


To Fill an Empty Man

by LittleMargie



Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Found Family, It's mostly Max waxing poetic about his Captain tho, NOT canon-typical romance, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Priest Kink, Slow Burn, The Captain and Max kind of adopt Felix, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, not gonna lie there is some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22264510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMargie/pseuds/LittleMargie
Summary: Max is a dumbass who thinks he's smooth.The Captain is a dumbass who thinks Max is smooth.Felix is a dumbass who thinks his parents should probably just get married already.A little bit of saving Halcyon is involved.
Relationships: The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto
Comments: 20
Kudos: 100





	1. Come Now the Preacher

Max’s first thought when he saw her was that she was a marauder, his second thought was that she was an _outsider._ The Vicar had never been one quick to excitement, but he felt a little thrill go through him at the prospect of someone new. He smiled and put his hand calmly under his desk. He hoped she was here for a confession, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a hand on the gun taped under his desk in case she went for the collection box. 

The thing was, people in Edgewater all looked the same, deadeyed, tired, and thin, but, most notably, they were all pale from spending sunup to sundown in the cannery. The Outsider was an explosion of color. Wild, deep red hair curled away from her face, and atop her skin sat thousands of freckles, spiraling like constellations. Bright blue eyes flicked his way and bright white teeth indulged him with a smile. She looked in her mid-thirties, around the time the citizens of Edgewater started to decline, but she bursted with life, the same way her blood vessels burst across her face and arms. Blue and yellow bruises littered her like galaxies. 

He felt himself word vomit a little about tossball scores and the quickest way out of town, but he could hardly bring himself to care. She was _new._

Her smile quirked a little higher, head tilted to the side. It seemed she was curious about him too. That, or scoping out his weaknesses.

“How’d you know I’m an outsider?” she asked, and he started a little at her voice. She talked like a cowboy from an aetherwave show, words slow and drawled. They seemed almost heavy on her tongue. 

“Your outfit is not exactly common around here,” he pointed out, “and to take it to a finer point, your accent is not exactly common either.”

She drew a hand over a tube on her jumpsuit. The thing really was quite curious.

“Also,” he continued when she didn’t respond, “You lack the distinctive worker gaze. Usually either a deadening behind the eyes, or, in some cases, a wild-eyed frenzy. Like a trapped animal.”

It was a rude thing to say, but he felt himself preening a little in front of her captivating gaze. It was something he hadn’t felt since he left home, the simple “notice me, notice me,” that runs through the mind of every child.

She quirked a brow and dropped her smile, dropping a stone in his stomach as well. 

“You seem quite dismissive of the common man for a spiritual leader.”

She drew the word spiritual out long as taffy, and he felt both chastised and defensive at the same time. 

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” he promised, hand loosening on his gun, “I’m simply bemoaning the… level of spiritual awareness in this town.”

Not that she seemed she would be much more enlightened, with her thick drawl and wide bruises. Ah well, talking to a marauder about anything at all was still better than talking to an Edgewater citizen about The Plan. 

His backtracked words seemed to do the trick, her face morphing into an expression of sympathy. 

“That must be tough.”

“Yes, yes it is,” Max agreed almost instantaneously. Law, this was getting to be embarrassing. Was a pretty face really all it took for words to fall from his mouth like rain? “But it’s my job, and I take it very seriously. I must double my efforts to elevate my flock. These are good, hard-working people here.”

That won him back her smile. Her eyes crinkled at the edges and her lip was split, but by The Architect was she lovely. She moved toward him, and his hand tightened on his gun before he realized she was just moving to perch on his desk. One of the tubes on her jumpsuit landed before him, but he could no more decipher its purpose than he could The Plan.

“What sorta spiritual advice do you offer ‘round here?”

He quoted some scripture at her. She didn’t seem too impressed. 

“Uhm, I was actually askin’ what your religion is all about.”

The question so surprised him that he loosened his grip on his gun entirely, his hand falling into his lap. He stumbled through the spiel like it was his first day at seminary. What backwater hole had she crawled out of?

“So, how do ya talk to this Grand Architect? Prayer, meditation, or what?” she asked.

She seemed perfectly curious, but the questions drew his hand back to his gun. Meditation was a philosophist practice, and she was just wild enough to be one of them. He scoffed a little. Explained. She didn’t seem much like she cared for his tone. 

“So, what’s your part in all this, besides counselin’ people?”

A question he asked himself every day. 

As he explained, the cogs in his head started to turn. A marauder interested enough to ask questions, tough enough to walk away with bruises instead of bullets; perhaps she would be able to…

“Thanks for the show n’ tell, Vicar,” she said with a nod, sliding off of his desk, “Though I ‘spose it was really just more of a tell.”

Aaaaaand he’d lost her. 

“I’m lookin’ for a power regulator.”

“Mechanical tomfoolery is well out of my purview,” he spat before he could stop himself, anger bleeding through at his loss of a willing listener, “I suggest you take such matters to Mr. Tobson, in the Cannery.”

He wanted to look away, show the same disinterest in her as she was now showing in him, but he couldn’t seem to peel his gaze from her face. It was foolish to hope, as hope went against The Plan, but he hoped she would survive to see him again. 

“A word of warning,” he told her quickly, before she could turn to leave, “If you’re considering wandering around outside the safety of the town, you’d best be cautious.”

Aha! Her attention turned on him once more.

“And why is that?”

“Marauders are about.” 

She laughed, and her eyes crinkled again, like god’s rays through the trees.

“Honey, how’d you think I got these bruises?”

Honey. He hadn’t been called that since… Wait, no, he had never been called that. The butterflies in his stomach reveled in the endearment. Perhaps her interest hadn’t fully waned after all. 

“A fair point. I think, then, that I may have a proposition for you, _darling.”_

It was… highly unprofessional. However, no one else was around to hear it, and she would probably be dead of gunshot wounds before the day was done, so there was hardly any harm. Probably. Maybe. 

If he had thought she was bright before, she positively lit up at his taunt, tongue poking between her teeth and grin widening. 

“Well,” she said, “I think you oughta tell me more.”

Splaying her hands against the desk, she leaned forward, seeming truly interested in him for the first time. He looked down to see a dull diamond ring glint against her left ring finger, and he leaned back. Dangerous games were made even more dangerous with another player on the field. He could throw a punch in tossball, sure, but he also knew when to _retreat._

“One of the reasons I transferred here was to fulfill my duty in hunting down banned, heretical texts,” he started, tone much more professional, “I happen to know such a book is, as we speak, tainting a collector’s library in Emerald Vale. However, the collector’s residence lies outside the town’s walls. My retrieval efforts have been thwarted-” he winced at the word, she was from some backwater town in the middle of nowhere, her accent proved that much, would ‘thwarted’ even be in her vocabulary? “-by marauders who’ve overrun the property. Should you fare better than me, I’d pay a handsome sum for the book.”

He’d expect a wanderer like her to latch on to the promise of a reward, but she surprised him yet again by diverting the conversation. 

“Why would a vicar be after a banned, heretical book?”

He gave a shitwater excuse, but she didn’t buy it. 

“I’ll need to know a lil bit more ‘bout this book ‘fore I agree to this.”

Huh… that was interesting. He hadn’t heard of a marauder with a conscience. Giving her a half truth, he watched her closely for any more signs of skepticism. 

She straightened up, her hands dragging against the wood of the desk as she stood.

“I’ll look for your book.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, and felt a pang of sorrow as she walked away. Perhaps he would pay her grave fees to Silas when she died. If they ever found her body, of course. 

When she came back she was in possession of marauder armor, and, more interestingly, Parvati Holcomb. He didn’t see Miss Holcomb in the mission often, and saw her in the company of others even less so. It was a shame, she was a bright girl. 

“Ah, Ms. Holcomb. How rare to see you out, and with a complete stranger, curious.”

“This here’s Vicar Desoto,” Parvati introduced, and oh… he had never told the Outsider his name, nor it seemed, bothered to ask for hers, “He’s always offering spiritual counsel to those that need it.”

“Thank you for your kind assessment, Ms. Holcomb,” he said, but even as he addressed her his eyes slid over to the Outsider. She was magnetic, even without saying a word.

“I’ve been quite interested to make our outsider’s acquaintance. Though, I confess, I am also interested to know if you’ve made any progress on the matter we discussed.” 

The Marauder smiled and pulled a little blue journal from her pocket. 

“I’ve got your book right here.”

 _By the Law_.

“Wonderful, this is fantastic!” he babbled, and his appreciation of the marauder's thick red hair became swiftly replaced with his appreciation of the small blue book. It was finally here, the meaning of life, his ascension, right here in his hands. “Well worth all the sacrifices I… wait…. What the fuck is this?” He had flipped it open, and it was all in “French? I cant fucking read French! It’s a Law-forsaken joke is what it is! French! Ha!”

His lips were moving but he could hardly hear what he was saying; his stomach clenched, the backs of his eyes felt hot, he could feel his throat constrict, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

“I was so high and mighty, preaching to the yokels about following the Plan while fighting it at every turn-”

He clutched the pages tightly, intent on ripping them, ruining them, smiting the very thing that dared-

A freckled hand clasped his, and he startled, having forgotten anyone else was there at all. The Outsider, who before looked so aloof, now gazed at him with blue eyes swimming with concern. Her touch made shame zing in his stomach.

“That book seems a lil’ more important than you let on,” she said softly.

More shame. Wasn’t _he_ the level-headed one? Wasn’t _he_ the one who comforted in times of need?

He couldn’t let go of the book. She didn’t let go of him.

Sighing, he lowered his voice, raising his eyes to meet hers. 

“There is little more important than such a precious, rare text,” he explained. He _had_ to explain, had to make her understand. It had been _so long_ since anyone had understood him.

“I’ve spent my life searching for the keys to unlocking the secrets of the Universal Equation that underlies The Plan. I had hoped this book held some of the answers. I became so desperate I even got myself assigned to this plague-ridden-” he cut himself off, the words she spoke yesterday echoing back to him. ‘Dismissive of the common man.’ Was she not the common woman? And yet, she had brought him the book.

“-this town. I’m… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

She squeezed his hand and drew back, leaving the journal to dangle limply in his fingers.

“Why’d you think the book held the secrets you were lookin’ for?” she asked.

He thought about replying that it was because he was a fucking idiot, but gave her the proper answer instead. 

Clearly intrigued, she raised a brow, looking down at the open pages.

“What’s a philosophist?” 

By the Law, where in the galaxy had this woman come from? Was she raised by primals?

He explained. It felt like all he ever did in Edgewater was explain.

As he did so, a slow smile grew on the Outsider’s face.

“A vicar searchin’ for a banned book sets a bad example, doesn’t it?” she asked quietly. It felt like a secret. He felt like he should share one too.

Then suddenly he was talking about prison. Like an idiot. He felt like an idiot. He felt like a child. He felt like… like maybe he didn’t want her to leave. He felt like maybe he wanted to go.

All of a sudden he could hear himself saying: “You have a ship? Perhaps I could make myself of use to your crew?”

His palms were sweating, and so were the backs of his knees. When did he get so disgusting? Why would he think she would ever want to travel with the likes of him and… oh.

She smiled like the sun.

“I wouldn’t mind a shiphand. ‘Sides,” she said, eyes flicking to the cushioned pad under his desk, “there’s something to be said ‘bout a man who spends his time on his knees.”

Ms. Holcomb, who he had forgotten about until this very moment, made a very good show of choking on air, turning bright red and spluttering, “She means praying, Mister Vicar, sir. Just praying! And thinking, and… whatever else it is that you do on your knees, like… grouting tile! Yep! Just good ol’ praying and grouting. That’s it. Oh look at… that wall over there! I’m going to go over there and just… think about the Plan, yep! I’ll just-” 

She promptly walked away. 

The Outsider was doing a very good job at not laughing, but failing spectacularly at keeping a straight face.

He couldn’t help but smile conspiratorially along with her.

“I already gave you most of my money, but I can offer free spiritual counseling, and I’d be happy to watch your back. I’m pretty handy with a tossball stick, or any blunt instrument, really. I’m also a passable gunman, and a better computer hacker. Not to mention I’ve been told I do quite well at… grouting tile.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up in a smirk. 

“That all part of your vicar trainin’?”

“Not strictly speaking, but The Plan is hardly worth following without a few… worldly pleasures.”

“What about outerwordly? I plan on gettin’ off this planet.”

“What a coincidence,” he said with a smile, “I plan on following you.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, and she grinned wider, sticking out a hand.

“I’m Captain Margaret Alex Hawthorne.”

He shook her hand.

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Well, my ma used to call me Margie.”

“Margie it is then. I’m Vicar Maximillian Desoto.”

She laughed.

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Just Max is fine.”

“Well ‘just Max’ congratulations on passin’ your interview.”

“Thank you kindly, but I’ve heard the Captain’s terrible to work for.”

“Oh, she is,” she agreed with a grin, “I hear she even has plans to kidnap a vicar!”

They chuckled together for a moment, and Max was suddenly struck with an indelible sadness that he had not met her before now. Already 47 years had passed without her, without her explosion of color. He longed for her the way he still longed for prison, with a strange and unbearable thirst for adventure. 

“I’ll get my things, meet you at the ship.”

“Wait a moment; Parvati!”

Ms. Holcomb trotted over, cheeks still burning red. 

“Parvati wanted to talk to you, about what Reed asked us to do.” 

“What?” Ms. Holcomb squeaked, “I-I thought you would talk to him!”

Max felt his eyebrows climb up onto his forehead.

“ _You_ wanted to speak to me, Ms. Holcomb? Every time I’ve tried to engage you in conversation, you look at the floor, answer in single words, and slink away.” 

Turning back to the Captain, he continued: “I can’t imagine what would be so grave as to drive her to my mission. What has Mr. Tobson asked you to do?”

Suddenly, the grin that had so beautifully decorated the Captain’s face disappeared. 

“He wants us to cut off the power to Adelaide’s deserters.”

“Depriving them of safety from the marauders and wildlife,” he finished, “I can see why that troubles you. Ms Holcomb has a soft heart. Always has, if you believe the talk.”

“The best thing to have in my opinion,” Margie defended, stepping slightly between Max and the Holcomb girl, “You can’t plant flowers in hard soil.”

Ms. Holcomb gave a nervous grin.

“That’s real beautiful, Captain. ... I think.”

Margie smiled kindly.

“And so are you. Now, Vicar, what do you think of Adelaide’s group?”

“They rejected the order of society and live beyond the walls so thoughtfully provided by our Spacer’s Choice patrons. Does that strike you as a responsible life choice?”

“Spacer’s Choice isn’t the best choice, Max, it’s right there in the song.”

“I wasn’t aware that musical propaganda is how you made your life decisions.”

It… probably wasn’t the best idea to antagonize his new boss, but her eyes still looked lovely rolled in exasperation.

“Anyway, what would you advise?”

“Assuming your goal is to save as many as possible, then you should bring everyone together. Send the power to Edgewater and convince the deserters to return to the fold.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Not if things are left to stand as they are.”

Frustrated, she drug her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Well, it’s not gonna get fixed by us just standin’ here talkin’ ‘bout it, so I ‘spose we’ll take off. See you on the ship, Max.”

“Be safe.”

She crossed her fingers.

“Here’s hopin’.”

And with that, she turned heel and walked away, Ms. Holcomb trailing behind like a puppy.

By the law, what had he just gotten himself into? 

His life was almost depressingly easy to pack up. True, he had come here straight from Tartarus, but it had still been almost five years since he moved to Edgewater. When he arrived his life had been packed in a single duffel bag, as he left his life was packed into two. One of which contained his disassembled desk. He tucked the Bakonu journal into his pocket.

He wrote a resignation letter to Mr. Tobson, sent a resignation email to Spacer’s Choice. He purged his computer, locked up the mission, and dropped off the key at the mercifully absent Constable Reyes’s desk.

Wrapping up the last five years of his life had taken approximately five hours. 

As he walked through the town with two duffel bags and a shotgun strapped to his back, not a single person stopped him. Sure, he wouldn’t go so far as to say that he had made any ‘friends,’ but the lack of response from his patrons was particularly bleak.

He left without saying a single goodbye. 

It was easy to find the ship, Lieutenant Mercer had told him where it was in her confession, and, much more surprisingly, it was easy to get on board. The door wasn’t even locked.

“Intruder detected. Marauder, exit this craft immediately or get vaporized in 10… 9… 8…”

“Margie hired me.”

“7… 6… 5…”

“Captain Margaret Alex Hawthorne hired me on as a shiphand.”

“... You don’t look like a shiphand.”

“I’m a vicar.”

“You just said you were a shiphand.”

“I can be both.”

“Are you going through a midlife crisis?”

“Am I- Listen, are you going to tell me where to put my things?”

“The doors to the crew domiciles are locked. The Captain has never traveled with companions before.”

“Then I’ll stay in her room until she gets back.”

“The door to the Captain’s domicile is locked.”

“Well can you unlock them?”

“Not without a power regulator.” 

Ah… that would explain why she wanted one.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is there _anywhere_ to sleep?”

“The previous Captain Hawthorne set up a cot in the cargo bay.”

The previous Captain Hawthorne? Perhaps the one who had put the diamond ring on Margie’s finger?

He trudged to the cargo bay. 

“I regret to inform you that the bathroom is also locked.”

...Fuck. 

On the first day, he made himself an acquaintance of ADA, and explored what he actually had access to on the ship. On the second day, he killed a marauder who shot at him while he was taking a piss outside; his dick was out the whole time. On the third day, he took to smoking the Spacer’s Coronas that he found in the cargo bay and reading aloud the french in Bakonu’s journal while ADA made fun of him for his pronunciation. On the fourth day the Captain came back, trudging through the field toward him. He called out to her. 

“I thought you might have died.”

She smiled so wide that a cut on her lip split open. The blood on her teeth looked like roses.

“Max! I thought you might have left. Turns out the only one willin’ to run messages through the Grove is me, and I could hardly get away.”

Biting wind pushed against them, trying its best to extinguish Max’s cigarette and tangle Margie’s dark red curls, but the warmth she exuded rendered it irrelevant. Red lips and red blood and red hair warming him like Spectrum vodka. 

He gestured to the hunk of metal in her hand.

“I see you found your power regulator. ADA will be happy.”

“I don’t think ADA will ever be happy with me,” she said with a chuckle, suddenly avoiding his eyes, “How have y’all been gettin’ along?”

“How do you think?”

She laughed, the sound more beautiful than any choir.

“She tell you she was gonna obliterate you when you stepped on board?”

“Something like that.”

“Good ol’ ADA.”

The power regulator landed by Max’s feet with a muted ‘thunk’ as she reached him, her constellations of freckles coming into focus.

“Can I bum one?”

He blinked.

“Pardon?”

The corner of her lip pulled up slightly, then she looked over his shoulder, eyes going comically large.

“What’s that?”

As he turned on his heel to meet the threat face first, he felt a calloused hand brush up against his. There wasn’t anything else in the field. 

When he turned back she had the cigarette he had been smoking between her lips. She took a drag.

“Bit easy to fleece for a prison boy, ain't you? Least Parvati has an excuse to be naive.”

He bristled.

“I’d like to think I assume the best of my fellow man. Where is Ms. Holcomb, anyway? Back in town? She’s alright, I hope.”

Margie smiled again, smoke curling between her teeth.

“Even better, she’s fixin’ on comin’ with us. Had to stop back in town to get her things, but I figured my time’d be better spent makin’ sure you managed to get here alright.”

Max felt his eyebrows skyrocket, but he assumed it made sense. Who _wouldn’t_ want to leave Edgewater if they had the opportunity? 

“Any other stowaways?”

“Hardly a stowaway if I invite ‘em. But no, it’s just you and Parvati. ‘spose I better get used to talk of engines and… what is it that you’re into? Tossball?”

He snorted.

“Yes, I am, as you say, ‘into’ tossball. I played on the team for Tartarus all five years I was there.”

Pensive, she took another drag of the stolen cigarette.

“How big are the balls?”

He shot her a look.

“If this is a set up for a joke-”

She cut him off with a laugh.

“My word, Vicar, what a dirty mind you have.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

She laughed again before snubbing out her cigarette and pulling the ring off her finger. 

“Could you hit this?”

She held it up, a blue eye studying him through the gold band. The question felt important somehow, profound behind the absurdity. 

“I have no doubt of it,” he told her, his voice turning hushed and serious for a purpose unknown. 

“Batter up,” she invited softly.

Never once taking his eyes off her, he reached to his belt, withdrawing and extending the telescoping staff he kept there, planting his feet in their well-worn positions. 

She tossed the ring.

Max swung.

A soft ‘ding’ of metal on metal announced that he struck true, and a quick glint of sunlight passed through the diamond as it sailed through the air, feeling like a farewell.

Margie sighed as it passed out of sight, and it sounded pure as any blessing. It felt divine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Okay so somehow I made the end note for this chapter the end note for every chapter? Too may years of fanfiction.net has rotted my brain. Anyway, I deleted the note before I could copy/paste it here, but it was probably just a plea for comments. More importantly, I made a spotify playlist for this fic! Link is here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0GxJyHyN9rQWbfNN3XUlVc?si=LwtAYKEtS5WizwnaJuvJ_g
> 
> I'll be updating it every chapter with ~aesthetics~   
> In an effort to give it mass appeal I made it about 50% Sara Bareilles. What can I say? Pretty much all I listen to is country.


	2. Truth From the Welles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all: will you please just update  
> Me, making this chapter 9000 words: hehe, keyboard go click clack

“Alright,” she said, putting out her cigarette and hefting the power regulator up again, “You best pick out a room, I’mma go see ADA.”

“Ah, of course,” he agreed, “I would hate to lose the best view to Ms Holcomb.”

“You’re a preacher, ain’t ya? I’da thought you’d take the worst; vow of poverty and all that.”

“My faith hardly stands up to Ms Holcomb’s youth, she has years ahead of her to gaze out of windows.”

Smiling, Margie clapped him on the arm.

“I’ll see you in a bit, Max, provided your old knees can handle the stairs.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d let you, but I wouldn’t wanna break your hip.”

He reached out a hand to grab her, to do what he didn’t know, but she danced out of reach, shooting him a smile as she boarded the ship.

Ms Holcomb came back as Margie tinkered with the ship, announcing her entrance with a clatter and some surprisingly colorful cuss words.

Sighing, Max put down the books he was unpacking and went to go help her.

“Is there any assistance I can offer, Ms- Ms Holcomb! Is Captain Hawthorne aware you’ve procured a small forest’s worth of potted plants?”

The woman in question blushed, quickly moving to right the plant that had turned over.

“Hiya, Vicar. Do you think she’ll mind? She said I should bring anything that would make me feel at home, but if it’s a problem I can always take them back. I mean… I did have to rig up a sled to pull them all out here, but I’m sure it should only take me about an hour to get back to town, not that I really think- Oh, hi Captain!”

She directed her last few words over Max’s shoulder, and he turned to see Captain Hawthorne, wiping grease off her fingers with a rag.

“Hey Parvati, it’s good to see you found us alright.”

“It would be kind of hard not to, this ship is huge! I’ve never been on anything like it! I’m dying to get my hands on the engine, I’m gonna make this baby sing!”

“That sounds mighty fine, but how ‘bout we put away your garden first?”

“My garden? Oh… I’m sorry about the plants, I can take them back if you don’t-”

“Of course not, they’re beautiful, let’s move them up to your room. Have you picked one out yet?”

“Oh no, I just got in.”

“You can have the room next to me,” Max heard himself volunteering, “The Captain can get us off the ground while I help you move.”

The women both looked at him in surprise.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Margie asked.

“Perhaps I am no Captain, but I certainly have enough brains to know that that power regulator wasn’t bought at the general store. We should leave before those you took it from decide to take it back. I may not be looking forward to hauling ferns up a staircase, but I am nothing if not pragmatic.”

Ms Holcomb simply blinked at him owlishly, but his words spurred Margie into action.

“Good thinkin’ Vicar, be sure to lift with your knees, wouldn’t want you to throw your back out.”

“I have a gun, you know.”

“Let me know if you need any help!”

With that, Margie jogged off to the command room, leaving him with the daunting prospect of carrying a frightening amount of terra cotta and dirt.

“Should I announce my weapons too?” Ms Holcomb asked.

Max sighed, this whole crew-mate thing was going to be harder than he thought.

===

Despite spilling dirt all over himself when the ship took flight, moving the plants went better than expected, and soon enough all of Miss Holcomb’s things were safe and sound in the room next to his.

It surprised him when he offered the room, but there was something about the younger woman that made him nervous. She was a brilliant engineer of course, and probably a relatively decent shot if she had survived Margie’s adventures, but if the ship was boarded or Margie turned out to be totally insane, it would be easier to protect Ms Holcomb if she was close. He had known her for five years, after all; it would be a shame if she died before she ever got the chance to truly live.

His contemplation and unpacking was interrupted by the smell of searing meat coming from the kitchen. He tried to place it, but he couldn’t believe he had ever smelt it before.

Letting his curiosity lead him, he made his way over to the kitchen. Ms Holcomb, looking just as curious, emerged from her own room to follow at his heels.

Margie was at the stove, having at some point changed into cut offs and an old, ragged flannel (both probably lifted from marauders), and she turned to smile at them when she heard them come in.

“Y’all can go ahead and sit if you wanna. There should be some water and Zero G in the fridge if you’re thirsty. I’ve never made primal before but I don’t think it should take too awful long.”

“You’re cooking primal?” Max asked, disbelieving.

“Captain, are you sure that’s okay?” Miss Holcomb asked, peering around Margie’s shoulder to examine the meat.

“I’ve been assured by ADA’s chemical analysis that it’s perfectly edible, and I’ve been assured by my own nose that it’ll taste a hell of a lot better than whatever was packed in them saltuna cans. I think we’ll be fine.”

After a few more sceptical looks Ms Holcomb secured a water from the fridge and sat down. Deciding that the meat did, indeed, smell good, Max followed her example, grabbing a beer.

“So, where are we going, Captain? If you don’t mind me asking, of course. … You don’t have to answer that if-”

Margie cut her off with a laugh.

“It’s fine, Parvati. You’re a part of this crew and you deserve to know the goings on, you both do. I reckon I got an awful lot of explainin’ to do. It’ll take four days to get to my daddy’s, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

“We’re going to your father’s?”

“Of a sort. Here, I think the primal’s done. Give me a minute and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Moving with the grace of someone who had done it a hundred times, Margie plopped the steaks on three separate plates, pouring the pan-sauce over them before reaching into the oven to pull out three ears of tobaccorn.

“Order up!” she chimed, putting the plates in front of them. Max noted with both satisfaction and bewilderment that she had given him the biggest portion.

Ms Holcomb dug in immediately, giving a contented moan when the food passed her lips, but Max carefully cut his steak into pieces, giving a cautious sniff before putting a bite in his mouth. To his surprise, it was actually quite good.

Margie gave a self-satisfied nod when she saw that they enjoyed it, and started eating it herself.

“So,” Max pursued, after clearing half his plate, “Who is this father of yours?”

Margie snorted.

“That’s a good fuckin’ question.”

“Have you… have you not met him?” Ms Holcomb questioned, cautiously leaning back after her query as though she would be yelled at.

“It’s complicated,” Margie said with a shrug, “But what do the two of you know about the Hope?”

“The lost ship?” Ms Holcomb asked.

Max took a very long swig of his beer; he felt like he would need it.

“Exactly. The lost ship. Not so lost, though, turns out.”

Max took another drink.

“I’m… not sure I understand,” Ms Holcomb said for the both of them.

Sighing, Margie pushed her plate back and took out her hair tie, running her fingers through her long firey hair.

“Well, there ain’t no good way to say it. I was on the Hope. I’m 108 years old, technically speakin’.”

By the Law, he should have known. She was absolutely batshit insane.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. I don’t like it anymore than you do, but before you go jumpin’ ship I just ask you to hear me out.”

Ms Holcomb nodded and Max just put his head in his hands.

“I was put into cryo with my husband-”

Max’s heart did a complicated series of acrobatics. Or… maybe more of a depressing interpretive dance.

“-in the year 2285 when I was 38 years old. When I woke up some weirdo was in front of me, talkin’ nonsense about chemicals and experiments and I thought it was just a bad dream. Then I land in an escape pod in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on a planet I never knew existed, with that same weirdo tellin’ me I gotta get outta there so I can save everyone else on The Hope.”

Max lifted his head.

“An escape pod? Then who’s ship is this?”

Margie sighed, bringing her spindly fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“ADA, give them the spiel.”

“I am programmed to only take orders from Captain Alex Hawthorne,” ADA informed them.

Max couldn’t understand what that had to do with anything, but Ms Holcomb lit up like fairy lights.

“Amazing! So you got around the identification lockdown by simply identifying as Captain! Interesting that there’s no biological component. Why would that be? Unless…”

Absentmindedly, she got out of her chair, bringing her fork with her to twirl it between her fingers as she paced.

“No biological identifier would either mean the ship is too old for the technology, which is clearly not the case, or the original owner disabled it, which shouldn’t be possible due to the Board restrictions put into place in 2305, but that’s the only possible solution. Unless… unless they modified it to avoid the Board tracking them, and rewired the ship to respond to name… but that would be ridiculous again because then anyone could take your ship. Unless the ship’s computer was… sentient?”

She looked up in wonder at the speakers ADA’s voice had come from.

“By the Law, I’ve gotta look at this harddrive!”

And with that she was off, fork clutched in her hand and a look of reverence on her face.

Margie and Max shared a look of bewilderment.

“Did you understand…”

“Not a bit. I work with computers, not AIs.”

They took swigs of beer in unison.

“So,” Max asked, “Did you kill the real Captain Hawthorne?”

Margie shrugged.

“Not on purpose, the idiot was holdin’ the homin’ beacon for my escape pod.”

“And now you have a ship.”

“And a crew.”

Max snorted.

“And what a fine crew we make.”

“I’d say so.”

It was silent for a moment, the quiet stretching between them like taffy.

“Well, I can’t say I believe you,” Max admitted.

Margie nodded, jaw tense.

“That’s fair. The whole thing seems wilder than a hog, even to me.”

Once again the drawl in Margie’s voice gained his attention.

“Where are you from then? If you’re from Earth.”

Margie huffed a bitter laugh.

“Texas. If you couldn’t tell. Me and my husband had a farm down there. Corn mostly, but we had some cattle. Not too different from tabaccorn and primal if you close your eyes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, face melancholy and eyes far away, “But I can’t help the wishful thinkin’. ...Can’t say I like primal better than cow, but you’re a hell of a lot better than that son of a bitch I got married to.”

Max laughed, the sound harsh and bitter, simply because he did not know what else to do.

“Am I to be your husband then?”

Margie grinned, seemingly drawn out of her reminiscing.

“Nah, you’d make a better cowhand, honey.”

This time Max’s laughter sounded right, and he felt a sort of weight lift off his chest.

“I think I’d rather count sheep, darling. It’s getting late.”

“That it is,” she agreed, getting up and gathering the plates, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Max stood as well, watching as she turned away from him, walking to the sink. He wanted to say something, anything, but words didn’t come. What was there to say? He watched like an outsider as she turned on the water and rolled up her sleeves, thin and pale against the grey of the counters.

“Goodnight,” was all he could manage.

She did not turn around.

Later he lay, looking at the ceiling in his strange new home, and all he could feel was empty.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the morning dawned (or… didn’t dawn because they were in space and the amount of light was relatively constant) Max proceeded to lay in his bed for approximately an hour, wondering how all this could possibly fit into the Plan. Then he got up and went to the bathroom to piss and thank the Architect that he now actually had a working toilet.

Life is about the little things.

A quick glance around the kitchen produced some nanners and some mock apple juice, and he took his breakfast into his room to eat, soundly shutting the door. He did not have the patience to deal with Ms Holcomb’s ramblings and Margie’s delusions this early in the morning.

He spent the rest of his day putting his things where they belonged and reading, the Bakonu journal sitting on the table in his peripheral vision, mocking him. It was a long morning.

After four or five hours he emerged once more, visiting the restroom and the kitchen yet again. This time as he looked in the cupboards he heard the voices of his two companions coming from the brig, but, deciding that his day would only improve without discussing the ship’s engine, he made himself a saltuna salad sandwich and went back to his room to eat and drink purpleberry punch in peace.

He sketched some in his notebook, thought about putting his desk together (deciding against it) and asked ADA to provide him with the latest tossball scores. Then, had an argument with ADA when she insulted his favorite team. Then, got so angry at himself for spending almost an hour arguing with someone who literally did not have a brain that he took a nap.

When he awoke it was to the smell of food wafting from the kitchen. His stomach gurgled appreciatively and he decided that a bit of dinner had never done anyone harm.

Even if it was made by a woman claiming to be 108 years old.

“Hey there, Vicar!” Ms Holcomb greeted from her seat at the table, engineering manual in hand.

“Max!” Margie exclaimed, smiling bright from her place at the stove, “I was just about to get you. Can you get the wine out?”

As the kitchen had been one of the only places not affected by the lack of a power regulator, Max knew exactly where everything was.

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” Ms Holcomb protested when he set a wine glass in front of her.

“Truely?” Max asked, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, “Do you subsist on nothing but dehydrated water tablets?”

Margie laughed but Ms Holcomb blinked rapidly, obviously surprised that he would joke with her. Though she was nearly thirty, she looked, at the moment, heartbreakingly young.

“Alcohol, I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Here,” he told her, leaving the glass there and going to the fridge, “I have just the thing.”

He rummaged about for a bit, but found what he was looking for on the back of the shelf, a bottle of expensive glacier water.

“Got it!” he announced, shutting the fridge with the bottle in hand.

“Wait!” Margie called, grabbing a tea towel off the counter and hurrying over, draping it over his arm.

“Garçon,” she addressed him with a smile, waving him back in Ms Holcomb’s direction.

He grinned, throwing his shoulders back and striding to the table, thinking of the aetherwave programs he’d watched as a child.

“Mademoiselle,” he said in a terrible french accent, “May I present to you the finest drink we have: water de glacier.”

Presenting the bottle as though it were a fine wine, he made a great show of opening it, Margie laughing delightedly in the background as he poured the water with a flourish.

Ms Holcomb smiled.

“Thanks, Mr. Vicar.”

“Anytime,” he replied normally, feeling warm and fuzzy and utterly ridiculous.

He poured him and Margie generous glasses of wine, and took a seat, feeling at once both comforted and extremely out of place. He had always taken meals alone in Edgewater.

“Bred noodles and the rest of the primal,” Margie informed them, setting down their plates and taking a seat.

The dinner was just as good as the night before’s, and Max and Ms Holcomb tucked in eagerly.

While everyone ate they talked about inconsequential things, the ship, ADA, the meal, what they had done that day, and so on, and while it wasn’t anything to write home about, it felt… good. Even when the plates had been cleared and the wine (and water) had been drunk, Max stayed at the table, surprised to find that he was genuinely enjoying the conversation. Well, until they started talking about Edgewater.

“Oh! That reminds me! Adelaide sent a sapling to my house as a thank you. Remind me to give it to you later, it’s in my room.”

Slowly, feeling as though he had been slapped, Max turned to Margie.

“Adelaide? ...Margie… where did you get your power regulator?”

While Ms Holcomb clapped her hands over her own mouth, Margie did nothing but stare back; jaw clenched and eyes unreadable.

“Margaret?” he questioned sharply, good mood entirely gone.

What had once been a lovely evening was now a minefield, the air tight and tense. Margie swallowed, Max’s eyes following the curve of her throat as anger boiled in his chest.

“Max, I-” she broke off, shoulders hunching over her heart, “I… I took the power regulator from the cannery.”

“Are you INSANE?” he exploded, standing with such vigor that his chair toppled over, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve condemned an entire fucking city to die!”

“No I didn’t!” she fired back, slamming her hands on the table with a smack, “They were dyin’ anyway! You all were! This way at least they can join the deserters! Adelaide has a farm, she has food, she doesn’t need Spacer’s fuckin’ Choice!”

“And how many of the people will survive the trip? Edgewater’s overrun with Marauders! Even I couldn’t go beyond the walls and I’m a fucking ex-con!”

“What was I supposed to do? Kill the deserters? Kill the gardens? Edgewater was dyin’ of starvation anyway!”

“So what, it was justified?”

“No! I hate what I did! But there’s hundreds of thousands of people, good people on the Hope, so I need-”

“By the Architect, you’re fucking crazy! I don’t know what the fuck happened to you, but you’re not from the fucking Hope, nobody is! The ship is lost!”

“I fuckin’ wish it was!” Margie screamed, standing too, “If you think I want any of this then you’re the one who’s fuckin’ crazy! I never asked for any of this shit!”

And with that, Margie turned on her heel and stormed away, flipping the bird with both hands as she went.

“Oh, real fucking mature!” Max shouted after her.

“Mister Vicar, sir, I know you’re real mad, but-”

“And you!” he whirled to face Ms Holcomb, “You were there! Why didn’t you stop her?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning sharply and storming back to his bedroom, jabbing the button to close his door.

Edgewater had certainly not been his favorite place to live, but he had lived there, spent five years of his life there. As a vicar, his job had him interact with the townsfolk on a daily basis, and while he couldn’t really say he had been anyone’s friend he had certainly been a part of the city’s support system. People looked up to him, and here he was, froliking through space with their murderer. Without Spacer’s Choice they would stand no chance; even if Adalaide had managed to start a farm it would be impossible to provide food for all of them, and that was if she even let them in. It was so far away from the Architect’s plan that it made him want to scream. Where was the order in this chaos?

He picked up Bakonu’s journal and threw it across the room, watching it hit the window with a satisfying ‘thunk.’ Damn it all.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The next day did nothing to lighten his mood.

He woke early and headed to the kitchen, gathering everything he thought he would need, and spent the rest of the day in his room, sulking and writing voraciously in his journal.

Was his behavior childish? Perhaps. Did he care at all? No. Besides, how could he possibly talk with two people who destroyed a town for no good reason?

Ms Holcomb he could forgive, she was soft and naive, but the Captain? She had no excuse.

A quiet knock and a “dinner’s ready” came to him in the evening, but he ignored it, opting for another saltuna salad sandwich. Damn Margie for being such a good cook.

For a while he could hear soft voices coming from the kitchen, but after about an hour they stopped, followed by footsteps, a “good night, Parvati,” and the sound of Ms. Holcomb’s door closing. Hesitant footsteps lead back to his door, followed by a timid knock.

“Max?”

He didn’t answer, but Margie continued nonetheless.

“I left a plate in the oven for you. It’s nothin’ fancy but it’s probably better than what you got in there.”

She laughed a little, nervously. He didn’t respond.

“Anyhow, I’ma headin’ up to bed. We should be at my daddy’s sometime tomorrow mornin’. I can ask him… I can ask him if he’s got a ship you can use, if you want.”

Did he want a ship? That would certainly help him find Chaney and beat the everloving shit out of him, but… he wasn’t sure he could do it alone, especially since it was likely he had a warrant on him for abandoning his post.

“Goodnight,” Margie called, and then she was gone.

Sighing, he buried his face in his hands. What the actual fuck had he gotten himself into?

He didn’t retrieve the meal, partly because of pride and partly because he had already eaten, but the one-sided conversation made him feel restless. Walking around the ship would have been nice, but that wasn’t compatible with his self-imposed quarantine; jacking off would be a good release of energy, but he had an uncomfortable feeling he’d end up thinking of Margie while doing it, and that was just… no.

As he sighed again he lifted his head, and his eyes caught the duffle bag that contained his still disassembled desk. Well… he wasn’t really sure if he would stay on the Unreliable, but putting it together would at least give him something to do.

The iron and wood helped calm his mind, and he felt a bit more himself with a wrench in his hand. He was no Parvati Holcomb, but he had always prided himself on being good with his hands. The space was tight, as his room was on the smaller side, but he managed to work around it, taking off his vestment to combat the slight heat in his muscles.

After about an hour, the desk stood proud, and Max’s thoughts were unwillingly pulled to Margie’s words in Edgewater, about him being on his knees.

He needed a shower.

Deciding that both women were likely in bed, he left his room, clad only in his slacks, hoping the water would clear his head.

When he opened the door to the bathroom, Margie was there.

In the half-light of the fluorescents the blood on her face looked almost black, smeared across her nose and mouth like a painting of the grotesque.

“Max,” she gasped, then turned back to the sink, fingers white against the edge of the basin as she retched blood.

“By the Plan,” he swore, moving to hold back her hair.

She wept through her retching, the sound echoing against the walls, and it seemed to pull the very heart out of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed when she was through, voice ragged from vomit.

“No need,” he soothed, reaching for her face.

Instead of being comforted she flinched violently from his hand, bringing one of her arms up as though to deflect a blow.

His heart broke.

“No,” he breathed, letting go of her hair to bring both hands in supplication, “No, I wouldn’t, Margie I wouldn’t.”

She nodded, closing her eyes tight against the sight of him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered once more, turning her face away.

“You have no reason to be,” he assured her, reaching to the wall to grab a washcloth, “Do you know what’s happening?”

She shook her head, still facing away.

“It’s… It’s been happenin’ since I was brought… brought outta stasis,” she rasped, cringing away from him.

Well… he didn’t quite know what to think about that, but she was ill, and that’s what mattered.

“Can I clean your face?” he asked, voice as gentle as he could make it.

A moment of quiet perforated the room, but then she nodded.

“Ok,” she whispered, turning to face him, “Ok.”

Conscious of making no sudden movements, Max wet the cloth beneath the tap and brought it to her face, cleaning the blood as gently as he could. She opened her eyes to stare into his.

“Will you wash me of my sins, vicar?”

The words felt strange and profound, the touch of god in a parking lot, and Max felt the air rush out of him like wind.

“We all have sins,” he told her, “but I will wash what I can.”

She laughed, a huff of air caressing his face.

“How diplomatic of you.”

“You’re too warm,” he told her, ignoring her words, “You’re running a fever. I’m going to get you in the shower.”

“Not too cold.”

“I know, darling,” he told her, the endearment slipping from his tongue like butter.

He waited until the water was tepid, his hand under the spray, and then moved back to the door.

“I’ll be right outside, Margie, yell if you need me.”

“Max,” she pled, and at that moment he noticed she was bent nearly double over the sink, “I don’t think I can stand.”

“Ok,” he said, stepping toward her, “Can I hold you up?”

She nodded.

“Clothes on or off?”

“On please.”

Walking as fast as he dared, he went back to Margie, pulling her flush against his chest. She was by no means a short woman, but she felt indomitably small against his broad frame. Being a vicar had treated him well, he was nowhere near as thin as the average man. He picked her up gently and set her in the shower, staying behind her as a pillar of strength.

“Do you do this with all your captains?” she rasped, head falling back against his shoulder.

“Only if you do this with all your vicars,” he replied.

She laughed at that, but the laughter didn’t treat her well, causing her to retch again.

“Shhh,” he soothed, petting her hair, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

She cried again, tears mixing with the shower spray, and he cleaned her up the best he could, one arm holding her against him, diagonal across her chest, and the other washing the sick away.

They stayed that way for a while, entwined under the water, but once it became clear she wasn’t going to bleed again, Max turned off the shower, pleased to feel that her temperature had gone down.

“Come on,” he cajoled, “to bed with you.”

“We’ll drip water all down the hall.”

“This hall’s seen worse than water, darling. Can I pick you up?”

She nodded, and he scooped her up bridal style, the heavy soaked fabric of their combined clothes weighing him down.

They passed Ms. Holcomb’s room without incident, and soon they were in the captain’s quarters.

He had never actually been in before, as it had been locked for the time he was on the Unreliable by himself, and the view took him away. The bed, too, was much larger than his, a little over double the size. A sapling of a puffball tree sat in the corner, mocking him.

“Do you need help changing?” he asked, gently setting her on her feet.

“I don’t… I don’t think so, but could you stay? Just turn around.”

He did as she bid, dripping water on her floor as he stared at the wall. The rustle of clothes came to his ear, and soon Margie told him that the coast was clear.

He turned back toward her, eyes drinking in the pale, freckled skin exposed by her overlarge sleep shirt; a bare shoulder taunting.

Like Orpheus, he could not help but look.

“Will you help me to bed?” she asked, quiet and hopeful.

“Of course,” he promised, moving to do just that.

Carrying her to the bed, he slid her under the covers and tucked her in, kneeling by her bedside.

“Will you be alright until morning?”

She shrugged lethargically.

“It’s happened a few times before, I should be fine.”

“Does Ms Holcomb know?”

She shook her head, mouth pursed in disapproval.

“She don’t need that burden.”

“Alright.”

He wasn’t quite sure that he agreed with that, but it did make sense.

“I’ll check on you in the morning, alright? As soon as I wake up. Then we’ll find a doctor as soon as we land.”

“There won’t be no doctors, it’s not even really a planet. Should be there by midmornin’ though, I’mma talk to him about it when we land.”

Right. Talk to her father about her… cryostasis complications. Best not to think about it.

“You’ll be alright until then?”

She nodded.

“Should be.”

“Alright,” he agreed, feeling exhaustion weigh on his limbs, “I’ll be in in the morning, see if your fever’s gone down more.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, confused at the action but too tired to care, and stood. A freckled hand grabbed his before he could move.

“Thank you, Max.”

“Of course,” he replied, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go.

It felt unnatural to leave her, but he could hardly do anything else, so he trekked back to his room, wet footprints following in his wake.

The gentle whir of the ship accompanied his undressing, and he felt as though he was shedding skin instead of clothes. He stood, naked, and stared out the window at the galaxys before him. Billions of stars and planets and he was here. What damnible plan was this?

The Bakonu journal, nestled on his rug from his earlier tantrum, taunted him, the blue cover of the journal matching the blue of Margie’s bedsheets.

By the Architect, he was fucked.

Gingerly, as though it would bite him, he lifted the book and put it back on the table, the dry fabric cover grating on his wet skin.

“Fucking french,” he muttered.

Then, with the exhaustion of a battle-worn soldier, he lay down to sleep.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as he awoke he was up and out of bed, throwing on clothes and striding barefoot down the hall to see Margie.

Of course, her door wouldn’t open.

“You do not have permission to access the Captain’s quarters.”

“ADA,” he snarled toward the ceiling, “Now is not the time for games.”

“It is not a game, you are not authorized to open the door.”

“Then ask the Captain to let me in.”

“Captain Hawthorne does not like to be distrubed in the mornings.”

“She’s not Captain Hawthorne, she’s Captain…” what was her last name?

“I can only take orders from Captain Hawthorne, if she was not Captain Hawthorne, I could not take orders from her.”

“Well then, my name is Captain Hawthorne and I demand you open this door.”

“You are not Captain Hawthorne, your name is Maximilian Desoto, and you are having a midlife crisis.”

“By the- for the last fucking time, I am not having a midlife crisis.”

“So you admit your name to be Maximilian Desoto.”

“I am going to rip out all of your fucking wires!” he yelled at the ceiling.

When he looked back down, Margie was standing in the open doorway, a rat’s nest of red curls falling charmingly every which way.

He blinked.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know you’re havin’ a midlife crisis,” she replied with a tired grin.

“I am not-” he spluttered for a bit before deciding to give up the argument entirely, “How are you? How’s your fever?”

“Feel for yourself,” she offered, pushing her curls away from her face.

He put a hand to her forehead.

“You’re still a bit warm for my liking, but at least your fever’s broken.”

“Anythin’ else, Doctor?” she asked with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes.

“I may not have been to medical school, but you need someone to take care of you.”

Slow as molasses, the grin dropped off her face, causing her to look unbearably sad.

“Who’s takin’ care of you, Max?”

He laughed, harsh and bitter, at the absurdity of the question, before stopping, and he found that he had no answer.

“ADA,” he replied, instead of saying nothing at all, “It seems she is very intent on keeping me from places I should not be.”

Margie did not grin, and her eyes didn’t leave his.

“ADA!” she called, “Grant Maximilian Desoto and Parvati Holcomb access to all rooms aboard the ship.”

“But Captain-”

“Do it, ADA.”

“... Yes, Captain.”

Despite his earlier tantrum, it in no way went over Max’s head that what Margie had just done was a very, very big deal.

“You hardly know us.”

She scoffed.

“You both gave up your lives to follow me.”

“Perhaps that says more about our quality of life than our opinion of you.”

“Then you deserve kindness, if your lives have been so cruel. I’m in a position to give it.”

What a lovely habit she had, of knocking him off his feet.

“You’re too kind to be a captain.”

She laughed.

“And you’re too rude to be a vicar.”

He was, wasn’t he.

“Captain,” ADA interrupted, “We’ll be arriving at our destination in approximately one hour.”

Margie nodded, red curls spilling around her face.

“I should get dressed then, get breakfast together. Can you tell Parvati, honey?”

“Of course,” Max and ADA answered together.

It took every bit of his self control to not glare at the ceiling, but he managed, bidding Margie a sharp goodbye and setting off down the hallway.

He chose not to listen to the giggles behind him.

Because he was absolutely not going to let an AI win, he soon found himself knocking on Ms Holcomb’s door.

“Coming, Captain!”

“It’s not the Captain.”

For a moment all sound ceased, and he worried that she wouldn’t want to talk with him, but soon her door whoshed open, revealing Ms Holcomb with wild hair and ratty pajamas.

“Vicar Desoto! I mean, Mister Vicar sir, I mean-”

“Yes, Ms Holcomb, I know what my name is.”

She laughed, a little wildly.

“Of course you do, yeah. What’s up?”

“We’ll be landing in about an hour, it might be a good time to get dressed,” he told her as he turned to go back to his own room.

“Wait!” she cried, reaching out to cling to his sleeve.

When he looked down at her hand, she let go like he had burned her.

“I just, I just wanted to say… well, I know that whole power regulator business upset you an awful lot-”

“Ms Holcomb-”

“No, I wanna… please, let me talk.”

He nodded, unsure that he could do anything else.

“When… when we rerouted the power I asked if I could do it,” she confessed, words spilling out of her like water.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just, and maybe you’ll hate me for it, Mister Vicar sir, but I’d never seen anybody cry so hard.”

He blinked against the unexpected words.

“...What?”

“The Captain told me what she was gonna do before we even went in, and at first I begged her not to, but she reminded me… When we got to the deserters the first thing they asked us is if we needed medicine. Can you believe that? Medicine! We didn’t do nothing for them, we weren’t essential workers or nothing, no debts or work orders or telling us we brought it on ourselves, just… medicine. And so I went with her, because… Vicar, you saw the people dying, you’ve had to have read last rights over and over, and they offered us medicine! Vicar, they didn’t know who we were, or if we were there to hurt them and they… I couldn’t believe it. So I went with her, into the geothermal plant, but when we got to the terminal… I’ve cried plenty for my mom, and for my dad, but the way the Captain cried… I’ve never seen anything like it. She cried like she was dying, like the world was ending, so I offered to hit the keys for her, sir. And she told me no. She was hurting more than anything and she told me no, cause she knew how much it would hurt me. And I don’t know if you’re leaving or staying or what you want, but don’t hold it against her. She didn’t do it on no whim.”

At the end of her speech they were both struck silent, a raw and nervous tension sizzling in the air.

To hear that Ms Holcomb, a woman who had lived in Edgewater all her life, had been so willing to reroute the power herself was horrifying, but he couldn’t help to think back on his and Margie’s conversation mere moments before, how him and Ms Holcomb had been so ready, so eager to leave their lives behind for the mere possibility of something better. Well, it struck a chord.

“Ms Holcomb,” he started, faltering for a moment before speaking again, “I don’t know what will become of me, but I must say, regardless of if I stay or leave, that I think you’re very brave.”

She looked up, clearly shocked.

“What?”

“To do what hurts you in the effort to soothe another, that kindness is not so often found. I may not agree with what you did, but the way you did it was most spectacular.”

As he spoke her face crumpled, and to his dismay she started to cry.

“No one’s ever told me I was brave before.”

Max was not so brave, and quietly contemplated how the fuck he could get out of this situation.

He settled for what he hoped was a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Yes, well, Edgewater hardly had much opportunity for it. I think you’ll do great things now that you’re away.”

Ms Holcomb started to cry even harder.

He retracted his hand.

“Right, well I’m off to get dressed, you should do the same.”

It was, perhaps, not the most vicarly thing to do, but Max had had a rough week. He cut himself some slack.

He was already dressed, but he used the opportunity to pull on some shoes and have a minor breakdown.

What the actual fuck was he doing?

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the opportunity to ruminate for long, as Margie’s cry of, “Breakfast!” resounded from the kitchen.

When he got to the table he realized that Margie and Ms Holcomb were wearing matching sets of overalls. He refused to find it cute.

“Okay, y’all, we’ve only got about half an hour till we land, so it’s mock apples and nanners, hope that’s alright.”

“More than alright,” Max soothed, noticing Margie chewing her lip.

“I love mock apples!” Ms Holcomb chimed in helpfully.

Breakfast was tense, but it more than surpassed the solitary meals Max had taken the day before. Strange how he felt better with the others even without conversation.

A sudden lurch caused them all to look up.

“Docking at the lab was successful, Captain. You may now disembark.”

“Well,” Margie said, putting down her nanner, “I guess that’s it then. Let’s get to goin’.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------

Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

The docking bay was huge and dark, reminiscent of city hubs but quiet and abandoned. He touched the gun on his hip, eyes casting about for this mysterious scientist.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ms Holcomb asked, hand resting on her belt.

“Keep on truckin’,” Margie said with a smile, and with that they set off down the dock.

“Hello?” came a voice from the intercom, “Can you hear me? Does this work?”

Max couldn’t put his finger on it, but the voice sounded awfully familiar.

“Oh, damn and blast, that’s loud.”

Margie gave a chuckle, but Max noticed easily how her eyes darted this way and that.

“I’m just securing my ongoing experiments,” the voice told them, “and securing myself.”

As they reached the door Max wrapped his fingers around his gun, but the open door only revealed a hall.

“Don’t mind the mess,” the voice continued, “I haven’t had a visitor since, uh… In fact, I’ve never had a visitor.”

If he had never had a visitor how could Max know him? For surely he knew the voice, if only he could remember…

Margie opened the second door, clearly nervous, revealing a lab and a figure behind plexiglass.

By the plan. Her father was Phinius fucking Welles.

“Hey, daddy!” Margie greeted, relaxing by the second at the clear lack of attackers.

The doctor blanched.

“Please, Margaret, I’ve told you not to call me that.”

“Would you rather I call you God? You did bring me back to life, you know.”

“My dear, you are truly a terror,” he replied, a sort of fondness lacing in his voice as he looked her over, “Oh thank the law, your skin hasn’t changed color. It’s a side effect of the waking process. Very rare, but, you know.”

Though Welles did seem to be genuinely relieved, Max couldn’t help but feel anger boil in the pit of his stomach. He would rather Margie’s skin change color than have her go through whatever she had gone through the night before.

“Right,” Welles continued, making it a point to only look at Margie. “Welcome to my little habitation, such as it is. I’ve got- uh, cafanoids, cysty bits, if you’re into that sort of thing. So welcome, make yourself at home. My secret hideout is your secret hideout.”

“And your secret quest is my secret quest,” Margie said with a smile, “Though, for what it’s worth, I appreciate you pullin’ me out of the Hope.”

Max held his breath. He may not have liked Welles overmuch, but he had to admit that he was one of the most brilliant people he had ever known. If Welles said Margie was from the Hope, Margie was from the Hope.

“Not at all my intrepid accomplice,” Welles replied with a smile, “I should thank you for tolerating my somewhat brusque manner.”

And that was it. Though Welles has said his words casually, they were worth the weight of a world for Max. The acquisition of the power regulator, which before had been a selfish act, was now painted in a new light. The revival of the Hope’s colonists was now a tangible goal instead of a delusion, and Max had to fight the flush of shame that colored him as he remembered his own harsh words.

Welles kept talking and Max shared a look with Ms Holcomb, a look of both disbelief and resignation.

“So, is that the reason you’re behind bulletproof glass?” Margie asked, unnoticing of her companions, “To prevent me from catchin’ your ‘brusque manner’?”

Welles laughed nervously.

“Oh, it’s not you, I do experiments in that room. Some of them get quite… scientific. The unexpected is to be treasured, but from a safe distance.”

“Have you treasured my crew yet?”

“No,” he answered, “and I’ve been trying to avoid eye conta-”

Welles’s eyes wandered toward Max, going wide as saucers with recognition.

“Margaret, step away from that man.”

Bewildered, Margie followed his eyeline toward Max.

“Who, Max?”

The somewhat hysterical laugh that Welles gave caused Ms Holcomb to take a step away.

“You call Vicar Desoto Max? Regardless, I want you come this way, I can open the door and-”

“I can hear you, Doctor Welles,” Max stated, surprised that he had been so easily recognised.

“And what a terrifying thought that is. Margaret, if you would please make your way-”

Margie didn’t move, looking between the two men with an eyebrow raised.

“What in the sam hell is goin’ on here? How do you two know each other?”

“We were in the same cell block in Tartarus,” Max supplied helpfully, “Though I’m surprised he remembers me, we hardly talked.”

“Hardly talked?” Welles repeated incredulously, “As if I would remember your conversation! I watched you split a man’s head open like a coconut!”

The two women quizzically turned to Max.

He shrugged.

Margie matched it.

“Good enough for me.”

“Good enough for…” Welles was struck speechless, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, “He didn’t even say anything!”

“To be honest,” Max confessed, “I’ve done that a few times, so I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Well, see! He can’t explain it if he doesn’t remember,” Margie reasoned.

“How is that what you’re taking from this!”

“Well, Daddy, to be perfectly honest, you haven’t exactly been sending me to places real friendly like. So if you don’t mind, I’ll take the ex-con over a bullet-wound.”

Welles’s mouth opened and closed some more, clearly unconvinced, and Max used the opportunity to glare at the scientist. It had been awhile since he’d truly intimated someone.

“Well,” Welles spluttered, “If you’re sure.”

“As the sun will rise,” Margie replied, sending a wink to Max.

Truely, what he did to deserve such a defense was a mystery to him. Though he was glad that Margie was taking his side, it was a little unnerving to see her throw her confidence behind someone with a record like his.

“Perhaps I’ll add ‘lack of judgement’ to your symptoms,” Welles murmured.

“What you should add is vomiting blood,” Max stated, jaw set as he stared the scientist down.

Welles whirled to look at Margie.

“Are you really, Margaret? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged, cheeks tinged pink.

“Didn’t really see the need in worryin’ you if we weren’t even on the same planet.”

“Well you’ve reached your goal! We’re on the same planet and I’m very worried! Now tell me, does it happen more in the morning or at night?”

They went through a number of questions this way, Margie answering plainly as Welles went to his computer and began typing away.

“Ah yes, I think your body is still stabilizing,” Welles concluded, “I’ll have some pills made to ease the process and send them to Groundbreaker, they should be there when you arrive.”

“What, so she has to go through this until then?” Max demanded, “It’s your fault, why should she suffer?”

“Max-” Margie started, and was promptly cut off by the doctor.

“I’m sorry, do you think this is exact science? Oh sure, let me tote out the hundreds of research articles on the subject, except, wait, I’m the only one who’s ever achieved this! It’s a miracle she hasn’t experienced explosive cell death! I’d like to see you accomplish this, Vicar! Oh wait, all you know how to do is beat someone to death with a tossball stick!”

“Now listen here you little-” Max snarled.

“Stop!” Margie ordered, “It’s my body and I say waitin’ till we get to Groundbreaker is fine. Stand down.”

A tense silence rang through the lab, and Max took a step back, unwilling to prove Welles right about his violent nature.

“Congratulations,” Welles offered Margie, “You’ve managed to put the dog on a leash.”

“That’s it!”

“Max!” Margie yelled, throwing out an arm to stop his pursuit, “If you can’t handle bein’ in the lab then go back to the ship.”

With her jaw locked and her arm out she looked like some statue of a warrior god. Max simply could not leave her.

“Apologies,” he said, tone clipped, and squared his shoulders. He would hardly let some old dolt get the best of him.

“Well, um… I think it’s very nice to meet you, Doctor Welles,” Ms Holcomb offered, clearly trying to break the tension, “I’m Parvati Holcomb.”

Welles peered at her.

“And do you have a criminal record?”

“Um… Not that I know of?”

“It’s best to keep a balance,” Margie interjected with a cheeky smile.

“Well, why don’t you invite the entire colony to my secret, carefully concealed laboratory?” Welles asked, voice strained, “It isn’t as if I wanted privacy.”

“Show a little hospitality, Phineus” Margie pleaded, the corner of her mouth pulled down.

He huffed.

“Fine. You have my apologies, and so forth. For what it’s worth, I am pleased you’ve found a crew,” he cast a suspicious eye at Max, “such as they are.”

It took every bit of self restraint Max had not to roll his eyes.

As Margie and Welles talked (something about a shrink ray? He wasn’t really listening) Max and Ms Holcomb wandered the room, taking in the various experiments with the doctor’s watchful eye at their backs. Max waited until Ms Holcomb asked about the hibernation pod to palm a pocket watch he had taken a liking to.

“-And that’s how I reanimated Margaret. As long as you continue to help her on her quest we’ll have the rest of the Hope up and walking in no time,” Welles finished. It had taken him all of ten minutes to take a shine to Ms Holcomb, to no one’s surprise.

“Speakin’ of, we might as well get to goin’,” Margie said, “Shit’s not gonna fix itself.”

“You’re right,” Welles agreed, “And the sooner you go, the sooner you get your husband back.”

A thin and waxy smile broke out on Margie’s face, but Welles didn’t seem to notice her discomfort in his effort to get them to leave.

“Goodbye, Doctor Welles,” Max said definitively, taking long strides across the lab until he reached Margie again, putting what he hoped was a comforting hand on the small of her back.

“Nice to meet you!” Ms Holcomb chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the peaked color of Margie’s face.

“See you when I see you,” Margie bid, and if she leaned a little too much into Max on the walk out, well… the doctor was none the wiser.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Head on in,” Margie told Ms Holcomb when they got to the Unreliable, “I’m fixin’ to talk to Max.”

“You sure?” Ms Holcomb asked, eyes wide as she looked between the two of them.

Max nodded, an uncomfortable knot settling in his stomach, and Ms Holcomb boarded the ship.

Margie took a pack of spacer’s coronas out of the front pocket of her overalls.

“Cigarette?”

“Please.”

They spent a moment smoking in silence, the smoke curling up into the high ceiling of the hanger.

“If you…” Margie started, shaking off ashes, “If you still want to leave-”

“No,” Max interrupted, “Margie I… perhaps I owe you an apology.”

That seemed to surprise her, and she tilted her head up to look at him.

“I… I can’t say I agree with what you did, I likely never will, but before… Margie, you have to believe me when I say your story was just so improbable-”

“Yeah, I remember you callin’ me crazy.”

He scrubbed the hand not holding his cigarette over his face. Margie took another drag.

“That was out of line, and I apologize. Today has made it extremely clear that you’ve been telling the truth. I thought before that you had taken the power regulator needlessly, that you were ruining lives just to get a lift off the planet, but it’s clear now you had your reasons. If you want me to leave I’ll leave, but if it’s up to me… I would stay with you, darling.”

Margie laughed, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Christ, you’re good with low blows.”

Well, perhaps he shouldn’t have called her ‘darling.’

He took a last drag on his cigarette, Margie following the motion. They both stamped out the butts.

“Well, get on the fuckin’ ship, I guess,” she told him, thumb jerking toward the door, “and don’t ever call me crazy again.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” he said softly, and with that, they boarded the Unreliable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so that was a monster of a chapter, hope y'all liked it! Chapter title was inspired by 'truth coming out of her well to shame mankind.' Just as some explanation on some plot points. If your reputation with Spacer's Choice is too low Max will actually attack you (if you haven't recruited him yet) so I figured he would be reasonably pissed off with Margie for taking the regulator from the cannery. Imagine if someone burned your house down and was like "I did this to save the people on the titanic." That shit would be wack. As for him and Welles knowing each other, I just really like the idea of Max being kind of like the bogyman to people in Tartarus, while on the Unreliable he's just like... a total dork. I don't actually know if Welles ever actually canonically went to prison, but eh, who cares. On a final note, I'm making space travel take a decent chunk of time in this fic so that the whole story isn't over in like, two months. I added a couple songs to the spotify playlist (link on first chapter!). Just wanted to take a second to thank everyone who gave kudos and especially to those who commented! It really added to my writing motivation. <3


	3. Groundbreaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sweet beautiful baby boy Felix FINALLY makes an appearance. Also this chapter is almost 16,000 words long because I'm a fucking dumbass.
> 
> On a slightly serious note, there is some mention of spousal abuse in this chapter. It doesn't go into much detail, it's one sentence only mentioning that it happened in the past. 
> 
> Also there's a little bit of dubcon (?maybe?) at the end of the chapter *spoilers* but Max kisses the captain on the neck after she told him a few days before she doesn't want anything sexual with him. If you're uncomfortable with that skip the scene where they walk back from the bar, and pick up after the line indicates the scene change.

It would take nine days to reach the Groundbreaker, according to ADA, so Max did what Max did best: read.

Ms Holcomb often stowed away in the cargo hold or the engine room, and Margie often sat on the computer in her quarters, catching up on seventy years worth of history, so the ship was relatively quiet during the day. Though they passed each other in the halls and walked in on each other in the bathroom (Margie granting her crew unlimited access to locked doors was proving to be a problem), they tended to keep to their respective areas.

However, meal times were a different story. 

They normally didn’t eat breakfast together, and lunch was often all over the place, depending on who had their head stuck in a project, but dinner was ritual. 

Though there had been rites and routines aplenty at his mission, the simple act of supping together, in Max’s mind, seemed to exceed them all. It seemed almost a communion, to sit, laughing with the women at the too big table, the fruit of Margie’s labor placed, hot, before him like an altar. 

They passed eight days this way, and they seemed extraordinary in the simple fact that they were not. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout?” Margie asked, leaning against his doorway with bare feet and a bottle of booze.

“How delicious dinner was,” he answered, looking up from his book.

“Bullshit,” she declared, “everythin’ came out of a can. We need to pick up groceries tomorra.”

“Is that why you have the booze?” he asked with a smirk, “To wash the taste out of your mouth?”

Margie didn’t answer, biting her lip.

“Margie?”

“You got time to take confession, preacher man?”

“Only if you don’t call me that again,” he said, feeling his hackles rise.

“Apologies, Vicar Desoto,” she replied, not sounding very sorry at all.

He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s got you in a mood?”

She looked away, mouth twitching to the side.

“Can I close the door?”

“Of course,” he said, standing in alarm, “Are you alright? I _told_ Welles this was too long to wait for the pills.”

“No, no, it’s nothin’ like that,” she assured, waving her hand as if to bat his worries away, “I just… wanted someone to drink with.”

“You don’t have any glasses.”

She snorted.

“Too good to drink outta the bottle, Max? You act real uppity for a prison boy.”

“Well, I never _drank_ toilet wine but I did _make_ it, and there’s nothing less uppity than that.”

That got a smile from her, just like he’d hoped, and she moved into the room, pressing the button to close the door before moving to sit on his unmade bed.

“Well I’ll be damned, never thought you had it in you.”

“Well, I had to have something to trade for favors,” he explained, turning his chair round and sitting down so his knees knocked against hers.

“Oh?” she asked, quirking a brow, “And what sortta favors were those?”

“Better food mostly, cigarettes sometimes, a book every month or so.”

“Nerd,” she taunted, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip.

“Fuck you,” he replied with a grin, gesturing for the bottle.

He felt a rush of warmth as she handed it over, hand brushing against his. Distracting himself from the freckles on her fingers, he looked at the label. Iceberg aged whiskey.

“Are you gonna drink it or look at it?”

“Fuck you,” he repeated, and, in a display of showmanship, took three large gulps.

Margie whistled.

“You’re gonna be feelin’ that tomorra.”

“You’ll be feeling nothing by the rate you’re going,” Max taunted.

“Then hand it over, you fuckin’ bogart.”

He did, eyes following the line of her throat as she took a hearty drink. 

As she passed the bottle back she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a far off look in her eye.

“Bit for your thoughts?” he asked before taking a pull. 

She laughed, a sad exhale of air.

“Only a bit?”

“You took most of my money,” he reminded her.

This time her laugh was genuine.

“I did, didn’t I? Remind me to give it back tomorra. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on the bookstore in Groundbreaker.”

He perked up.

“There’s a bookstore on Groundbreaker?”

She shrugged.

“How the hell would I know?”

“You’re a bitch, Margie,” he told her with a smile, though he was unable to not feel very disappointed. 

She grinned back at him.

A few moments of silence passed as they shared the bottle, and Max started to feel pleasantly warm, a familiar heat settling in his stomach. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tipped his head back against the wall.

“Hey, Max?”

“Hm?” he hummed, eyes still closed.

“Have you ever been in love?”

 _That_ caused him to open his eyes, brows raised in surprise.

Lying like some greek statue, Margie sprawled across the bed with her back to the window, the galaxy framing her like black velvet, stars nestled by her head like jewels. 

No, he had never been in love, but he sure would like to kiss her. 

She wasn’t looking at him the same way, though, she was looking at her left ring finger. That sobered him quickly.

“No,” he answered, “If I hadn’t seen my parents’ relationship I wouldn’t believe in it.”

“Were they nice? Your parents?”

Looking away from her, he took another pull.

“My parents and I… had very differing opinions on how I should live my life.”

“You didn’t wanna be a vicar?”

He laughed, harsh and stilted. If only.

“No, _they_ didn’t want me to be. They wanted me to conform with the drudgery of the proletariat.”

“Proletariat?”

“The working class.”

She snorted.

“Christ, you think high and mighty of yourself. Here, pass me the bottle.”

He passed it, feeling rather like he had swallowed a lemon. High and mighty, as if he should take criticism from a farmer. 

“My mama was a terror,” she told him when he stayed silent, “never knew my daddy, he died in a radiation storm when I was three.”

“Radiation storm?” he asked, looking back toward her.

She huffed a laugh.

“Why’d you think so many people signed up to leave earth? For shits and giggles? No, it was… it was awful bad. We hardly had a single calf come out right. They’d have three legs or two heads, always somethin’ wrong. Danny’d always wanna shoot ‘em, but I just didn’t have the heart. Sometimes they’d turn out fine but sometimes all there was to do was just… lay next to ‘em so they wouldn’t go alone. ...Sorry,” she said, using the back of her hand to wipe her eyes, “I’m not bein’ a real good drinkin’ buddy.”

“Don’t apologise,” he told her, thinking of the last time she had cried in front of him, flinching as he tried to help her, “Is Danny your husband?”

She nodded, eyes far off.

“Yeah, he’s a real son of a bitch. You know when you met me? The bruises on my face? They weren’t from no marauders. I’d had them bruises for seventy fuckin’ years. Finally gone now though.”

“He hit you?” Max asked softly, confirming what he already knew.

She huffed a laugh.

“Yeah. That time was cause I didn’t wanna go on the Hope. Wanted to stay there on my farm knowin’ I’d be dead by the time he got outta cryo. Maybe I still will be, the way this is goin’. I always knew that shithead would live longer than me.”

Max stayed silent. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could say.

“You know… when I landed in Edgewater, and Phineus told me what had happened, I was so relieved I could have died.”

“Relieved?”

“Cause Danny’s still in there, and I’m out here.”

“Why are you working with Welles then?” Max asked, utterly confused, “Why get the materials to pull your husband out of cryo?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Max, there’s still thousands of people on the Hope. ‘Sides, I got a ship now, and more’n enough bits to make it on my own.”

“Is that the reason you stayed? The money?”

“Isn’t money the reason for everythin’?”

“Hardly.”

She took another swig, anger clear in her face.

“As if I could fuckin’ walk out into the world without a place to stay or food to eat or a fuckin’ gas mask. I’da been dead or whorin’ in a week. I’d rather be fixin’ one man’s dinner than be spreadin’ my legs for twenty.”

“You’re a resourceful woman,” Max protested, “Surely you could have-”

“I’m fixin’ to whoop you if you say one more fuckin’ word. Or drop you on Groundbreaker without a fuckin’ bit. See how you’d fuckin’ fare.”

“Point taken,” he surrendered, hands up in appeasement, “I’d rather not become the Groundbreaker’s resident pickpocket.”

Snorting, she passed him the bottle again.

“You know, I still miss the bastard?”

“Your husband?”

She nodded.

“He wasn’t all bad. More’n anythin’ I miss the… familiarity. I knew what to do on the farm; knew what food to feed the cows, how to mend my overalls, what programs were on the aetherwave, when to start cookin’ Danny’s dinner. Now I just…”

She trailed off, looking behind her out the window.

“I feel like one of them meteors, spinnin’ around without knowin’ where I’m goin’; causin’ havoc for no reason other than that’s what I’m doin’.”

“Many feel that way before they embrace their place in the Plan, but once we accept our-”

“I ain’t lookin’ for your sermons, preacher.”

“Then what are you looking for?”

She smiled, turning back toward him.

“Fuck me if I know.”

“I’m afraid I’m too drunk, darling, but my mouth still works.”

“Lordy!” she exclaimed, the heaviness of the air dispersed by her surprised laughter.

Though he should probably laugh with her he found himself unable to do anything but look. She was a tornado, drawing him in, unwilling, a force of nature, and he couldn’t help but drag his eyes across her; the crows-feet by her eyes, the freckles on her face, the curve of her neck. She looked so lovely on his bed. 

“What on earth am I gonna do with you?” she asked with a shake of her head.

He smiled at her fondly, the whiskey warming up his heart.

“You could take me up on my offer.”

And he found that he wanted her to. Wanted to press her against the mattress and run his mouth across her skin, between her thighs. He hadn’t been with a woman since before prison, but he could still treat her better than her husband, better than any other man could. He would make sure of it.

“And that’s my que to leave,” she said with a smile, uncurling her legs and sliding off of the bed.

Heart pounding, Max stood too, a sudden panic gripping him.

“I did not mean to offend-”

“You didn’t, Max, don’t worry,” she soothed, bringing up one of her hands to cradle his face.

He pushed against it like a dog, eyes sliding closed, pressing a kiss to her palm with his whiskey soaked lips.

“Look at me,” she softly commanded, her thumb gently dragging across his cheekbone.

He did as she bid, realizing he was much drunker than he thought when his eyes had trouble focusing. The light suddenly was too harsh, too bright, but Margie seemed an old earth angel, bathed in it, hazy and warm around the edges. 

“When God made you he put a devil in preacher’s clothes,” she murmured, and there were so many preposterous assumptions in the statement he couldn’t even reply. She didn’t seem to notice, and he reflected for a moment that she had drank almost as much as he did. 

“Max, I ain’t gonna lie to you, there’s a big part of me that wants you to make good on the offer.”

She sounded so lovely, voice like music as she slurred her words.

“But I’m drunk as shit, and I’m your captain, and I’ve been married fifteen years. I mighta had you hit that ring, but I still feel the weight of it on my finger. I ain’t gonna trade one ball n’ chain for another, no matter how pretty you painted yourself up.”

The hand that was on his cheek slid down to flick at his vestment.

“So have a good night, preacher man.”

Giving him a pat on the chest, she stepped away, walking out of the room gracelessly and leaving the bottle of whiskey behind.

He couldn’t wait to get off this ship. 

\--------------

They arrived at the Groundbreaker in the evening, so late they ate dinner on the Unreliable before touching down. 

Though Max and Margie hadn’t talked about the night before, other than mutual complaints of headaches, it seemed to sit between them as a vase, solid and empty, waiting to be filled. The tension between them sizzled and popped, but there was something soothing about it, like oil in a pan. If Ms Holcomb noticed, she declined to mention it.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” she asked, a smear of grease running along her forehead from her work on the engine earlier.

“For tonight? Not much. I reckon we better talk to Ms Gladys tonight, if she’ll take us, and then get some rooms at a hotel.”

“I meant to ask, why waste the money?” Max interjected before taking a bite of mashed potatoes. 

“Well, I reckon there’ll be security at the dock, easier to just make one trip in and one trip out. We’ve gotta grab food, soap, ammo, maybe clothes and armor, some new guns. And, lord, if Edgewater was any indication, I’ll be spending pretty near fifty years figgerin’ out all their problems.”

Ms Holcomb snorted into her microwaved dinner, obviously thinking about the million quests they had gone on together.

“You know, you don’t have to take everyone up on their requests,” Max reasoned. 

Margie shot him an exasperated look.

“And here I thought _you_ were the preacher. What’s the point of bein’ here if we don’t help each other? ‘Sides, I’ve made more money doin’ favors in this past month than I ever did workin’ a farm.”

“Your self-sacrifice is admirable,” Max commended with a smirk. 

Margie flipped him off, Ms Holcomb giggling in encouragement. 

The ship gave a final lurch, a sudden silence rushing in as the engine switched off.

“The Unreliable has now docked at the Groundbreaker.”

“Thanks, ADA,” Margie said, joining her companions in shoveling down the last bites of their meals.

“Only good goddamn thing about this swill is you don’t have to do no dishes,” Margie complained as they all tossed the containers of their microwaved dinners in the trash, “Everyone ready to go?”

Max and Ms Holcomb nodded.

“Alright, get your bags and meet me by the door.”

The three of them dispersed, walking back to their rooms while Margie commanded ADA to _actually_ stop people from coming on the ship in her absence this time. 

After grabbing the duffle he had packed that morning and slinging his shotgun across his back, Max went to the front to join the others, Bakonu journal tucked safely in his inner breast pocket. 

Ms Holcomb was still in her room, looking for something if her cussing was anything to go by, but Margie was already by the door, looking like a hitchhiker with her denim overalls on and her hair tied up with a blue bandana.

“Nervous?” he asked, taking stock of her wringing hands. 

She huffed a laugh.

“Kinda. Don’t really know what to expect. You been on before?”

“Many years ago,” Max said with a shrug, “Right after I left home. It’s likely changed.”

“Well, we’ll take it together, I suppose,” she murmured, fumbling in her pocket and pulling out a loose cigarette.

Max took out his own lighter and lit it, his hand coming to her shoulder so he could rub it in what he hoped was a soothing manner. 

“Me and Ms Holcomb will be with you the whole time. We’ll be fine.”

She grinned tightly around the cigarette.

“Let’s hope so, preacher man.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Call you what?” came Ms Holcomb’s voice from behind him.

“It don’t matter,” Margie said as they moved apart, “You ready?”

“I guess, but how am I supposed to know what not to call him if no one tells me what not to call him? I wouldn’t want to offend you, Mister Vicar, sir.”

“Trust me, you would hardly have the impertinence.”

“The what?”

Margie rolled her eyes.

“Let’s just go,” she interrupted, opening the hatch, “See you, ADA!”

“Provided you don’t get your eyes gouged out, Captain,” the AI called back.

Max rolled his eyes.

\------------

The hanger was a strange parody of Phineas Welles’s. While his had been silent and empty, the Groundbreaker port was bustling with life; ships docked in multitudes while dock workers and security men scuttled around like ants. The biggest difference though, was that it was fucking _hot._

“And I just took a shower,” Margie griped, using her hand to fan her face.

“I wonder if it’s the engine?” pondered Ms Holcomb, expression unnaturally tight. 

“Oh, don’t mind the heat!” a worker piped up, doing a little jog to reach them, “It’s got a few days until it reaches critical, and I’m sure Ms Tennyson will get it fixed before then!”

The three of them exchanged wary glances.

“And you are....”

“Jane Elson. I’m here to scan the cargo manifest.”

She pulled out a device and aimed it toward the ship, looking at the screen after it made a little beep.

She turned toward Max.

“Captain Alex Hawthone?”

“That’d be me, actually,” Margie corrected, ashing her cigarette.

Elson wrinkled her nose a bit at the action, but continued in her chipper tone.

“Would it be correct to say you have no cargo?”

Margie nodded.

“That’d be right, just here to see some friends.”

“Sounds good! Makes this easier for ya. Security’s that way!”

“Thanks, honey,” Margie said with a nod, and they set off down the ramp. 

“Smells like grease and unwashed bodies, just as I remembered,” Max remarked.

“Smell better or worse than jail?” Margie asked, lips grinning around the cig. 

He shot her an unamused look, not replying in favor of listening to the argument unfolding before them.

“This nitwit just knocked out one of my men with a tossball stick!”

The nitwit in question was a scruffy young man with holes in his clothes, with the wiry frame of an underfed laborer and a glare on his face. 

“Jackass had it coming,” the boy said with a sneer.

“Shut up, Felix, you’re not making it any better,” a security guard snapped.

Though Max was hardly interested in a boy’s petty squabbles, Margie had stopped, hip cocked as she ground out her old cigarette and lit a new one; her eyes intent on the boy. 

“Going for a stroll around the docking bays?” Felix called out when his assailants had left him alone, his wide eyes turning toward their ragtag group. 

“That was some argument,” Margie replied, making her way toward him. 

“Sure was, no thanks,” he declined the cigarette she offered him, “Got a knack for upsetting the Board and the Mardets all at once. Between you and me, I was hoping they’d come to fisticuffs.”

Max used all his willpower not to snort. As if this little runt could go two to one. 

“I heard you knocked someone out with a tossball stick,” Margie said with a grin.

“The guy insulted my Rizzo’s Rangers, alright?” the kid defended, too wide hands coming up in mock surrender, “You can’t just insult my Rangers and expect to get away with it. Of course I decked him with a tossball stick. I mean, what am I? Some kind of fairweather fan?”

The dedication Max could admire, the dedication to the Rizzo’s Rangers? Not so much. The Tartarus team had destroyed them the last time they played, and Max had gotten carded for killing a man.

Amateurs. Wasn’t his fault the guy’s skull was so soft. 

“Rizzo’s Rangers?” Margie asked, looking up at Max.

“Tossball team,” he supplied.

“The _best_ tossball team,” Felix corrected.

This time Max couldn’t hold back his snort.

“You got something to say, old man?” the kid asked, stepping forward in a way that Max was sure he meant to look intimidating. 

“To you?” Max questioned, a single eyebrow raised, “Hardly.”

Margie rolled her eyes.

“Oh boy.”

“I gave him what he had coming,” Felix said, voice dropping as he tried to sound tough, “And I’d give it to you too if I wasn’t afraid I’d break your back.”

Max couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Perhaps you should stick with the other dockworkers, pup.”

“He was a foreman,” Felix corrected, “And…” he looked at the ground, and then back to Margie, “I guess I just tendered my resignation.”

“Got any plans?” she asked, voice kind but eyes dancing.

“Enjoy my freedom,” he said with a shrug, “Scrounge enough bits together for a Zero Gee. Other than that… Hey, not for nothing, but I saw you wander out of that ship over there by the dock. Wouldn’t happen to be yours, would it?”

Max shot Margie a warning look. The last thing they needed was this idiot on the ship.

“I reckon it would,” she said, avoiding Max’s gaze with a grin, “I’m Captain Margie Hawthorne of the Unreliable.”

“Woah,” his eyes got wide as saucers, “Captain of the Unreliable? You’re like something out of a serial drama.”

Suddenly Felix’s eyes narrowed, darting off to the ship before landing back on Margie.

“But hey, I don’t want to talk your ears off. Guessing you got places to be. Thanks for your time.”

“Pull the reins there, boy, you in a hurry to get somewhere?” Margie asked.

Max crossed his fingers and hoped that ADA would actually keep out intruders this time. 

“Oh, not at all!” Felix said, voice pitching a little too high, “But uh… I’ll see you around, boss.”

And with that, he took off up the ramp, step just a little too peppy.

“Boss?” Max repeated, a skeptical eye following the boy.

“Eh, let him dream,” Margie said with a wave of her hand.

“He seemed nice,” Ms Holcomb piped up.

Max snorted again. 

They continued on their path. 

Margie whistled low and long when they went up the steps.

“Well, would you look at that.”

A poster with Dr Welles’s face had been put on the bounty board.

“They didn’t quite get his nose right,” Ms Holcomb observed. 

“That-” Max said, pointing at the list of charges, “-is what I went to jail for. Conspiracy to commit conspiracy.”

“What does that even mean?” Ms Holcomb asked, brows scrunched together.

“That you live under a facist government,” Margie drawled.

“Something like that,” Max confirmed.

They took a moment to look at the other posters, then carried on to the customs window, trying not to nervously look at each other as Margie handed over the late Captain Hawthorne’s ID badge. 

“Let me apologize in advance,” the custom’s officer started, prompting Max to inch his hand toward the gun on his back, “Your ship’s been impounded by the board, but, it’s not the end of the world. Probably.”

“How would I go ‘bout gettin’ this resolved?” Margie asked, pinching Max’s sleeve so he couldn’t get his shotgun. Ms Holcomb nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot. 

To everyone’s relief, the officer just started explaining who to talk to and how to get there, looking moderately bored.

“Any idea why my ship was impounded?”

He shrugged.

“Above my paygrade, but between you and me? This doesn’t happen that much, the Groundbreaker doesn’t take too kindly to the Board meddling in our business.”

“Well thanks, honey, I’m sure me and my crew can take it from here. They need ID?”

“Depends. If they don’t give it, you’re responsible for their behavior aboard the ship.”

“That’ll be just fine,” she said, giving Max a wink, “They ain’t really trouble makers.”

After promising to do the officer a favor (How did this keep happening to her? Nobody asked Max to do this many things for them), and having a conversation that was way too long for Max’s liking, they were cleared to enter Groundbreaker.

“Nervous?” he asked the two women as they approached the wide door to the main bay.

“No,” said Margie.

“Yes,” said Ms Holcomb simultaneously. 

He chuckled and nodded at the Mardet to open the door.

“It will be fine.”

Despite their reassurances, (or confirmation of fear, in Ms Holcomb’s case) the two women reacted in completely opposite manners to the onslaught of neon and sudden cacophony of noise. 

“Wow,” Ms Holcomb breathed, eyes lit up and mouth hanging open.

Margie said nothing, a hand shooting out to cling painfully to Max’s arm.

He had to resist the urge to laugh at the two of them.

“Here, darling,” he murmured, guiding Margie’s hand to his waist and wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders. 

She didn’t resist him, face white as she practically burrowed into his side. 

“Did you think Edgewater was big?” he asked with a grin.

“Yes,” the two women answered together, Ms Holcomb in awe and Margie in terror.

“You’ll get used to it,” he reassured, “Should we find Gladys?” 

Margie nodded, face still pale but jaw set. She looked like she was going to her death rather than an over-saturated stripmall. 

“I think I remember it,” Max pondered, and with that they set off. 

“Try not to be distracted by the adverts,” Max warned when Ms Holcomb started toward a glowing Rizzo’s bot, “Lots of unsavory types about.”

“Got it, Mister Vicar, sir,” she replied, absolutely not paying attention. 

Margie tightened her grip on his waist. 

Thankfully, the Rest-N-Go was only a short ways away, and Margie relaxed a little as they passed through the door, Ms Holcomb walking in backwards to keep taking in the sights. She only turned when the door closed, face keeping it’s brightness as she took in the hotel.

“Ooh! Can we rent an upstairs room?”

“Of course,” Margie murmured absentmindedly, slowly retracting herself from Max now that they were safely in the hotel.

On the one hand, he did miss her body pressed against his, but on the other.... Well, she had been holding on rather tight.

“How do you do and welcome to the Rest-N-Go,” the doorman called out, “We used to be the Go-N-Rest, but folks never knew when to leave.”

Max gave him a very unimpressed look over Margie’s head.

“Sorry,” the doorman said with a grimace, “Business has been slow. Anything to occupy the time.”

“No need to apologize, sugar,” Margie said, half absent-minded, “We’re just here a-lookin’ for Gladys.”

“Oh, you can’t miss her!” he exclaimed, lighting up now that he knew he didn’t have to talk to Max, “Right behind you, number two. First unit on the left. Or second unit from the right, depending on which direction you count from.”

“Thanks,” Margie said, and all of a sudden she looked her normal self again, lazy smile gracing her face and confidence in her stance, “She takin’ visitors this late?”

“Does until midnight!” the clerk supplied helpfully, “You have plenty of time.”

Margie gave a lazy salute and started toward number two, her two companions trailing after her.

Max couldn’t decide if he liked confident captain or damsel in distress better, so he pinched himself and tried not to think about it. He wouldn’t need her after he found Chaney anyway. 

Gladys herself was… underwhelming. Just a little old woman sat at a desk.

“Bless my heart,” she said, voice surprisingly strong for her age, “A stranger come knocking on a poor old woman’s door. You here for a particular reason? Or did the neighbors tell you how good my sugar cookies are? Made without a single natural ingredient or an oven, just like store-bought.”

“Phineas sent me. He said you could sell me a Navkey to Stellar Bay,” Margie drawled, not phased a bit by the innocent old woman act. 

Gladys raised an eyebrow. 

“Those have been the height of illegality since Stellar Bay turned their noses up at the Board. You and I could be thrown to the void just for discussing such a transaction.”

Margie crossed her arms while Max threw on his best prison glare. Even Ms Holcomb, Max was proud to note, was trying to look mean. 

“Lucky for us,” Gladys continued after she looked them over, “Groundbreaker’s a free port. We’re outside the Board’s control. For the time being, at least. 

“Now, I only have one Navkey, and they’re hard to come by these days. It won’t be cheap. If you find yourself lacking in bits, I might have an opportunity you’d be interested in.”

“I’m fine with ‘not cheap,’” Margie said with a shrug, “How much is it?”

“Ten thousand bits.”

The Unreliable crew members shared a not-so-discreet glance. That was… really not cheap.

Margie huffed. 

“Any chance of a discount since Phineas sent me?”

“Phineas!” Gladys exclaimed, “That old kook? He was quite the dancer back in his prime, did he tell you? Real light on his feet. Real light in the wallet, too. He still owes me a small fortune. Laws, maybe I should charge you double.”

“Well, let’s not be too hasty,” Margie reassured quickly, “How’s about you tell be ‘bout the opportunity?”

An awful lot about Roseway started to be said, and Max did have to admit he zoned out a little. He had had quite a few beers with dinner, and it was a little past his bedtime.

Not that a hardened ex-con like him would have a bedtime.

After buying a few datapads from Gladys and assuring her that they would look into Roseway, they went back to the clerk, who introduced himself as Milo.

“Hawthorne you say? I have a package for you from… it just says ‘Your Father.’”

“Perfect,” Margie gushed, Max letting out a sigh of relief. 

Hopefully the pills would do what Wells promised. 

After a wildly long conversation due to Margie’s incessant questioning, they finally got to the business of ordering rooms. 

“Oh, three? I’m afraid you’re a little out of luck. A few more rooms open up tomorrow when The Shiner leaves port, but tonight we only have two.”

“We could always just sleep on the ship,” Max offered hopefully, eyeing the sprat that was eating trash a few yards away.

Margie shot him an incredulous look.

“We haven’t even found out why our ship was impounded, you want us to just mozey on back through security?”

“We could just leave, I could hack the system to override the order, and you promised Gladys we’d go to Roseway.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Milo protested, putting his fingers in his ears.

Crossing her arms, Margie turned toward Max, lips pursed in disapproval. 

“You wanna go all the way there with nothin’ more than baked beans in the cupboard? Not to mention your preacher’s getup.”

“What’s wrong with my vestments!?”

“It’s hardly bulletproof, that’s what’s wrong with it.”

“And the engine’s about to explode,” Ms Holcomb chimed in helpfully.

“And the engine’s fit to explode! We’ve got the obligation as decent human bein’s to at least look at it tomorra.”

Max huffed a sigh.

“As you wish, Captain.”

“Damn straight.”

She turned back to Milo.

“You can take your fingers outta your ears now.”

He did.

“Parvati, you mind sharin’ a room with me tonight?”

“Of course not!”

Ah… it made sense that she wouldn’t want to share with him after the stunt he pulled the night before. 

“We’ll take ‘em, thanks, Milo.”

“Of course! First two on your right after you go up the ladder. It’s a thousand bits as collateral, but you’ll only be charged one hundred per night per room.”

“Sure thing.”

“Great! Here are your keys. The vending machines are in working order if you get peckish. Any belongings left behind in rooms after you check out are legally ours, and any damage to the rooms will incur additional fines, from a minimum of one hundred bits to a maximum of five years indentured servitude. Have a good stay!”

“Is that what happened to y-”

_“Have a good stay!”_

As much as Max would prefer to stay on the Unreliable, he had to admit there was something welcoming about his little hotel room, and though the bathroom left a lot to be desired, he didn’t have too much else to complain about. He easily drifted off to sleep. 

Of course, he was woken by incessant knocking a few hours later.

Lifting his shotgun into his hands, he walked cautiously toward the door. It was unlikely someone would knock if they were planning to rob him, but you could never be too careful. It turned out to be Margie staring down the end of the barrel.

“Law!” he swore, quickly putting down his gun, “What happened? Are you alright?”

And indeed she did look very not alright. Her face was red and splotchy and tears gathered in her eyes.

“I think I’m havin’ a mental breakdown,” she stated plainly. 

“Come in,” he ushered, shutting the door behind her, “Here, sit down.”

She sat on his bed, a repeat of the night before. He kneeled before her, his knees screaming in protest.

“Max… what the fuck am I doin’?” 

“Now or just in general?” 

She laughed, a few tears spilling out of her eyes.

“Both, I guess, it’s just… it all feels so _real.”_

“How do you mean?”

“When I got woken up it all felt like a dream, like it didn’t matter what I said or what I did ‘cause it wasn’t real, I mean, this is all so crazy! Who could imagine somethin’ like this! I’m supposed to be farmin’ cows, not flyin’ ships and _murderin’ people._ And this stupid fuckin’ place with it’s lights and it’s noise and I couldn’t never… I couldn’t _never_ dream up somethin’ like this place. I feel like I’ve been slapped awake, only I’m still dreamin’, only I never was dreamin’, only… only….” 

She burst into tears. 

“Oh, darling… Margie, darling, it will be alright,” he tried to soothe, taking her hands into his and rubbing the backs with his thumbs, “You’re a damn good captain, and I’ve never met a stronger woman. You’ve got me and Ms Holcomb with you, dear, you’ll be just fine. The Plan encompasses us all, the path you’ve taken is the path that was chosen for you.”

Though he knew the Plan held little comfort for her, it was what he knew, and he found he also needed comfort at the moment. 

“I’m just a farmer!” she cried, deaf to his words, “I’m just a farmer.”

“I know, darling, I know.”

They sat there for a while, her crying and him offering comfort, until she finally calmed down.

“What’re you doin’ on the floor?” she asked with a sniff, a little smile gracing her lips. 

“Looking up to you,” he replied.

She huffed a laugh, using her hands to pull him to his feet.

“Come sit with me, old man.”

“Technically you’re older than me.”

“Keep dreamin’,” she mocked, pulling him down to sit with her.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders he pulled her into his side, something tight and primal in him loosening as she laid her head on his shoulder. 

“Thanks for dealin’ with me, Max,” she said softly.

“Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of dealing with you,” he replied.

She snorted.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning his head against hers, “It’s an honor that you’d come to me, especially after last night.”

“Please,” she scoffed, “You’re a red-blooded man and I’m a good-lookin’ woman. Ain’t no harm in that. You took a ‘no’ better than most would.”

Max let out a breath he had been holding for 24 hours. 

“I’m glad you didn’t take offense. You’re a good woman, Margie.”

“And you’re a good man, Max. I’ll let you get some sleep.” 

She started to rise, slipping out of his hold.

“You could sleep here… if you like,” he pleaded.

She stopped, one foot on the floor.

“I…” 

Turning away, she set her eyes on the wall that separated them from Ms Holcomb.

“I better not. I said I’d take her to Ms Tennyson tomorra, she made me promise not to leave without her; I wouldn’t want her to wake up alone.”

“Of course,” he replied, separating himself from her, “It was only a thought.”

“A nice one,” she said softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand before getting off the bed.

“Sleep well,” he bid when she made it to the door.

“I’ll try, honey,” she promised with a smile, “Will you stay close tomorra?”

“I shall be your satellite,” he swore.

And then she was gone. This time, sleep did not come so easy. 

When he awoke, it was to Ms Holcomb knocking on his door, already dressed and ready, with breakfast provisions from the vending machines in her hands.

“Here,” she said, shoving it towards him, “Captain said we couldn’t go without you, so eat up! We’re going to meet Ms Tennyson today!”

And with that she turned heel and practically skipped back to her room. It would have been cute if Max were actually well rested. 

Twenty minutes later the group was ready to go, Margie shooting Max a thankful look as he offered his arm at the hotel door. Ms Holcomb took point, practically vibrating with excitement as she talked a mile a minute about Junlei Tennyson’s accomplishments, and her two companions followed, Margie looking around nervously and Max looking at Margie. 

Though a few merchants tried to call out for their business (what the fuck was up with that moon guy?) they made it to Engineering without issue.

“Hm. Thought there’d be more machinery,” Max commented when they got through the door, “must be housed on a sublevel.”

“I wish this heat’d be housed on a sublevel,” Margie groused, letting go of Max’s arm so she could wipe her face with a bandana.

“Wow,” Ms Holcomb gasped, not paying even a little bit of attention to them, “Look at all this! I could look for days and not even see the best parts! It all looks a little worn, though.”

Max could hardly focus on the machinery when the air was so hot you could see the heat waves.

Margie guided them to the right, into a room overlooking the engines.

“Junlei Tennyson,” a young woman with grease smears introduced, looking up from her computer and stepping forward to shake hands, “I’m Captain around here, but Chief to my friends. Hope you don’t mind the formal introduction. Groundbreaker doesn’t see many visitors.”

“Margie,” Margie introduced, shaking her hand, “and my crew’s Parvati Holcomb and Vicar Desoto. Nice place you’ve got here, Chief.”

“No it isn’t,” Tennyson replied with a grin, “It’s a mess, but it’s _my_ mess, so I’ll take the compliment. Just so we understand each other, I’m the final word on this ship. The Mardets, the crew, the engineers- they’re family. I hope there won’t be any problems while you’re visiting.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you keep the peace,” Margie offered with a smile. 

Max coughed to cover up a laugh. It would be unlike Margie to not find any trouble.

“Good to hear. So, what brings you to the Groundbreaker? I’m curious, even though nine times out of ten the answer’s ‘just passing through’.”

Margie grinned.

“Just passin’ through.”

“Statistics don’t lie,” Tennyson said with a laugh, “We see a lot of faces coming and going- most of them Board spies and corporate sprats. Makes it hard to trust outsiders. You seem different though, so… welcome aboard.”

“Good to know I leave a glowin’ impression,” Margie replied with a smirk, “But here, you got a moment? Parvati wanted to talk to you.” 

Ms Holcomb suddenly turned a very concerning shade of red that Max suspected had nothing to do with the heat. 

“Wh-what? I didn’t think you’d just-!” she cut off and did a series of stammers any beatboxer would be proud of.

“Parvati, is it?” Ms Tennyson asked, turning a little pink herself, “That’s a lovely name. What can I do for you?”

“I was just thinking, I haven’t got much experience working with actual real spaceships, Ms Junlei- uh… Chief Junlei?”

“Junlei is fine.”

Margie nudged Ms Holcomb to continue. 

“Hah, okay. Since you run a whole space station, I was wondering if, well, maybe you could teach me some things? I could message you later, maybe?”

Ms Holcomb trailed off, eyes pleading a silent “help me” when they caught Max’s.

He just nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

“I’d be happy to make the time, Parvati,” Junlei said to, well, everyone’s relief, “You can ask me anything.”

“Wow, great. I’ll do that, then. Messages. Later. Oh! Your name’s pretty, too. I shoulda said- Sorry. I like it. Honest. Sorry.”

Margie sent Ms Holcomb a not-so-discreet thumbs up before turning back to Ms Tennyson.

“Thanks, Junlei. I had some other questions for you. I heard your havin’ a heat problem. What’s going on?”

The women talked for a while about what was happening and what could be done about it, but Max was soon distracted by Margie’s hand smacking into his. As he looked over quizzically he saw her tip her head just slightly toward the computer that sat on the desk. 

“We’ll get right to it, but would you mind showin’ Parvati what an overheatin’ ship engine looks like? Just so she’ll know in case it happens to us.”

“Of course, right this way.”

“I’ll stay here if you don’t mind,” Max interjected, “I’d rather not get closer to that heat.”

Junlei looked him over carefully before shrugging. 

“Sure.”

When the women were out of sight he sat at the desk, making sure he was out of sight of the window before hacking into the computer. 

He dug a little into personnel files, messages, and a few other odds and ends, and locked it up tight when he heard the women’s footsteps returning. Walking a little ways away, he appeared to be engrossed in ‘The Modern Steel Wrench And You,’ as they came around the corner. 

“Thanks, Junlei. Ya ready to go, Max?”

“I’m ready to fix this heat,” he confirmed, and with that they set out.

“She tellin’ the truth?” Margie asked in an undertone as Ms Holcomb prattled about the engine.

He gave a nod, and they both seemed to wordlessly agree that they should not tell Ms Holcomb about prying into Chief Tennyson’s things. 

Luckily the elevator was close, and the heat seemed to subside the lower they got.

“Think we should reason with MacRedd?” Margie asked as they descended, clearly getting more comfortable the further away from the promenade they got. 

“Speaking for myself, _Captain,_ I am not of a mind to be murdered by a psychopath who plays with fire,” Max deadpanned.

“They might be mad with Carbon Monoxide poisoning,” Ms Holcomb added helpfully, giving a hardy sniff, “I don’t think it’s very well ventilated down here.” 

“Probably get some points with Junlei if we did it without violence,” Margie pondered. 

Before Max could get the chance to answer, the doors opened, and they were within sight of MacRedd himself.

“Look at _this_ ripe piece of meat, yum yum,” the outlaw catcalled as they walked down the hall, eyebrows climbing as he gave Margie an obvious once over, “I’d love to feed you to my flames, baby.”

Max crossed the remaining distance in three long strides, the barrel of his shotgun landing an inch away from MacRedd’s nose.

“You’re only gettin’ outta this if you play nice,” Margie said, drawing a pistol as she sauntered up to Max.

MacRedd only smiled.

“Look at the courage on this one! Lay it on me, baby, Give me a taste of that-”

“Finish that sentence and the only thing you’ll taste is lead,” Max growled.

MacRedd snapped his jaw shut with a click.

“We’re here fer some parts,” Margie drawled, “Junlei sent us.”

“That’s right!” Ms Holcomb squeaked, “Just the parts. We’ll be in and out in a jiff. You won’t even know we were here.”

Well… there goes being intimidating. 

“You gonna let us grab them?” Margie asked, gun and eyebrow cocked. 

“You don’t just ask a king for a favor when you’re standing in his court! You need-”

“What you need is to give us the parts before I put a bullet in your brain,” Max interrupted. 

MacRedd gave a nervous chuckle, “I think I’ll need a little more than that.”

“Your lucky lighter,” Margie demanded.

“What’s that, baby?”

Max cocked his shotgun, an unfamiliar anger coursing through his veins.

“Don’t call her baby.”

“Point taken!” MacRedd confirmed, hands coming up in surrender. 

“Give us your lucky lighter and we’ll collect the bounty on you. Win, win. We get money, you get the Mardets off your back.”

“Beauty and brains!” MacRedd exclaimed, eyes flicking over to Max, “And a beast. Get your man to take the gun off my head and we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

Margie nodded and Max lowered his gun. 

“Give little flick here a good home,” MacRedd said, tossing Margie his lighter.

“You call your lighter little flick?” Max asked before he could stop himself.

MacRedd ignored him. 

“Don’t worry, Mr MacRedd,” Ms Holcomb piped up, “We’ll treat Mr Flick extra nice on account of he’s your friend.”

“Why’s it say ‘Sanita’ on it?” Margie asked. 

“Good eye! Sanita gave me this lighter. We had a carnal understanding a few years back-” he gave his hips a thrust.

“Aaaaaaand we’ll be getting the parts now,” Max interrupted, steering the two women past MacRedd.

“Jealous, Max?” Margie asked with a smirk.

“It’s hard to be jealous of a man who doesn’t bathe.”

Soon they had the parts, and though Max really did want to blow MacRedd’s head off, he could admit that Margie’s approach had worked perfectly.

“Excellent,” he said when the parts were in her hands, “Now we can move on to… cleaner pastures.”

After a teeny tiny bit of stealing (cigarettes for Max and magpicks for Margie and nothing for Ms Holcomb), they were back in the elevator, getting hotter but breathing less carbon monoxide. 

Chief Junlei looked confused upon seeing them again so soon. 

“Did you have more questions?”

“Sure, what now?”

Junlei’s eyes widened as she saw the parts in Margie’s hand.

“Color me impressed, it hasn’t even been an hour! Good work, I’ll take those. I need you to head through the large door at the far end of engineering. Take the elevator down into the machinery shaft. There’s a terminal in the back. Activate it when I call over the ship’s PA. And bring weapons, there’s a slight mantipillar invasion.”

“Honey, I couldn’t care less,” Margie said before Max could ask her definition of ‘slight’, “I’ll do damn near anythin’ to stop sweatin’ so much.”

“And we’ll take good care of the ship,” Ms Holcomb added, “You don’t have anything to worry about. ... apart from fires and such.”

The Chief smiled.

“I’m genuinely heartened to hear that, thank you.”

Ms Holcomb flushed fantastically. 

Though Max had never particularly enjoyed killing animals, it was worth it to _watch_ the fight. Ms Holcomb was surprisingly good in combat, and though her eyes were a little wide and her grip on her weapons was a little too tight she moved confidently, killing mantipillars with hardly a flinch. As gratifying as it was to watch Ms Holcomb though, she was nothing next to Margie. 

Killing looked more like dancing in Margie’s body; she moved without a second thought and struck her target almost every time. Though her guns looked identical she never seemed to doubt which shot plasma and which one was electric, and she switched seamlessly between robot and insect, always inflicting maximum damage. Where Max was a rabid dog she was a hawk, eyes and bullets scouring the area to make sure he wasn’t attacked from the side. 

The trio emerged from the maintenance shaft without a scratch, though they were splattered with bug guts. Ms Holcomb tried very hard to fix her hair before they talked to Junlei. 

However, it seemed Ms Holcomb’s hair was the last thing Chief Tennyson was worried about; she smiled so wide it seemed like her face would split in two. She looked much too young to have a ship like the Groundbreaker sitting on her shoulders.

“My boards are turning to green, the temperature’s dropping as we speak. I’ll see to it the crew knows who kept us from boiling alive. If you’ve got time, I believe Edna has a comms issue that could use your attention. I’ve also authorized Doc Mfuru to sell you our premium meds.”

“Thanks a million, Chief.”

“No, thank you, Captain. And you, Parvati.”

Ms Holcomb flushed scarlet, stammering about how it was nothing at all, but Margie cleared her throat loudly and stepped, with a markedly pissed face, toward Max.

“A-and you too, Vicar,” Chief Tennyson swiftly corrected, “We appreciate the Unreliable’s efforts toward the Groundbreaker. I heard your ship was grounded, but I’ll send a message to Bedford telling him to knock it off.”

“We appreciate it,” Max confirmed with a nod of his head.

Margie seemed satisfied. 

After heading back to the Rest-N-Go to wash up (Max only going after the women were back in their room, on account of the communal showers), they found themselves in a foodcourt of sorts, hunched over spratwurst. The food was mediocre, certainly not Max’s idea of a good meal, but it _had_ been heavily discounted. Apparently word traveled fast when you saved thousands of people from boiling alive.

“Where to next, Captain?” Ms Holcomb asked, eyes turned conspicuously back toward Engineering. 

“Well, I guess we better find out about this whole impoundin’ business, figger out why we was flagged in the first place, then head over to medical, snag up some of them deals Junlei was talkin’ about, do that favor for the security officer. Maybe talk to Sublight if we’ve got the time.”

Max swallowed his beer. 

“You’re planning to take up with the salvagers?”

Margie shrugged.

“If the money’s good. If we’re gonna zip around the galaxy anyway we might as well get paid.”

“Fair point. How long are we planning to stay on Groundbreaker?”

“I figger we’ll leave tomorra. Do our shoppin’ in the mornin’ and leave ‘round noontime. Ain’t no sense in lingerin’ if it won’t get us closer to that navkey.” 

Luckily the Halcyon building was only a ten minute walk away, and they got there pretty quickly after eating. 

The Unreliable crew looked a little out of place, (Max not included, of course), but Margie walked right in, shooting a lazy salute at the corporate troopers. 

“Wow,” Ms Holcomb breathed, “I think everything in here’s worth more than I made in my whole life.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Margie drawled, looking unimpressed, “There’s a cloud past every silver linin’.”

“Every bread has it’s crust,” Max agreed, not to be outdone on ominous proverbs.

Margie shot him a bewildered look.

“The crust is the best fuckin’ part.”

“Hem hem. Can I help you?” asked an overly manicured man at the front desk, lip pulled up in a sneer. 

Max thought it was probably best if he handled this.

“This is Captain Margaret Hawthorne of the Unreliable,” he introduced, laying a steadying hand on her shoulder, “We’re here to inquire why the ship was impounded.”

Bedford blinked, clearly thrown off.

“Ah, yes. Wheeler messaged me you were coming. The Unreliable was once a vessel helmed by _Alex_ Hawthorne, and you are very clearly not he. You share the name? Are-”

He broke off, clearly distressed, before clearing his throat and speaking again. 

“Are congratulations in order? I hadn’t heard he was to be married.”

“He wasn’t,” Max answered quickly before Margie could answer, “Unfortunately he passed. Margaret is a relation.”

“It’s a family business,” Margie agreed with a tight smile, jerking her shoulder to throw off Max's hand.

Bedford hardly seemed to notice the tension between the two, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Oh no! This is terrible! My dear friend! What devilry is this? In whose miserable fever dream am I trapped.”

“Yeah, real sorry for your loss,” Margie dismissed, “Now why’d you flag my ship?”

“Apologies,” he answered, only half paying attention, “I’ll remove the impound order at once; me and Alex had a little game, you see, we’d-”

“I’m sure you were great friends, thanks for clearnin’ this up,” Margie interrupted, already turning away.

“Wait!” Bedford cried out. The trio stilled like crooks in a spotlight.

“Alex promised to tell me the location of Phineas Welles, did he ever tell you where Welles might be?”

Though Max’s heart sped up and Ms Holcomb’s eyes widened, Margie just shrugged, the perfect picture of nonchalonce.

“Never mentioned him, sorry.”

“Of course,” Bedford huffed, “That would be entirely too easy.”

“We’ll be sure to notify you if we hear anything,” Max promised, “Thank you for clearing this up.”

The second they were out of earshot from the corporate troopers Margie whirled on him.

“Mind tellin’ me what the fuck that was?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You didn’t hardly let me speak; I’m the Captain, not you.”

“But _I’m_ the one who knows how to talk to the Board, he wasn’t going to listen to you,” Max shot back, a zing of anger flying through him at her lack of appreciation.

“Seemed to listen just fine when I got a word in edgewise.”

“Because I had introduced you, the upper class isn’t likely to take you-”

“Oh, the upper class!” Margie exclaimed, “Am I too much of a hick for the likes of you? Just one of yer fuckin’ _proletariat?_ ” 

“I was _trying_ to do you a _favor.”_

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, clearly trying to center herself.

“Ok,” she stated firmly when she opened them, “I can see where it is you’re comin’ from, but I don’t appreciate you blindsidin’ me. Next time you wanna take the helm, you tell me first.”

Max blinked, having had prepared for this to go full blown screaming match. It seemed she didn’t share his temper. 

“That’s… more than fair. I suppose I apologize.”

She snorted.

“I suppose you do. Let’s go, I think I saw medical near the front of the promenade.”

The three continued on their way, Margie markedly no longer on Max’s arm, and Ms Holcomb keeping a wary eye on the pair. 

Of course, when they got to the Medical Bay there was a problem. Max would have loved to ignore it, but Margie, of course, walked right up to the woman making a scene. 

“What’s all this about yer friend?”

The short-haired woman scoffed. Normally, this would be enough to get Max’s hackles raised, but, as he was still pissed about Margie being pissed at him, he allowed the slight.

“Let me get one thing straight, Jesse’s not my friend, I just owe her, okay? As for the rest, I’m trying to figure that out. All I know is that she’s been here too long, and she’s apparently not receiving any visitors.”

“How come you’re lookin’ in on her if you don’t even like her?”

“You say that like it’s weird,” the other woman said defensively.

Margie shrugged.

“Might be none of my business, just curious, is all.”

“I just don’t like to leave a debt unpaid.”

“Well now, maybe I can look in on Jessie.”

The woman gave Margie an unimpressed once over, said “Be my guest,” and went to go sit down.

Margie walked toward the man at the desk.

“Are you Dr Mfuru? We’re the Unreliable crew, Junlei said she’d tell you we’d be comin’.”

“Ah yes, she called up from Engineering, said I should let you buy medical supplies from our stores. Now, is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, I’d like to see Jesse Doyle.”

Mfuru’s and Max’s eyebrows shot up at the boldness of the question. 

“The records say Ms Doyle checked herself in and requested I admit no visitors. The requests of our patients are paramount. So no. You may not see her.”

“The records? So you haven’t spoken to her yourself?”

“Well… no, I-”

“Because I was told by Doctor Fenhill over there that Jesse is a deeply religious woman, a true follower of the Architect’s plan.” 

She elbowed Max in the side, low enough that the Doctor couldn’t see it.

“I, of course, would be glad to see this young woman in her time of need,” Max proffered, “When I heard of the young woman’s dedication to our faith I knew I must see her. The sick are those most comforted by the plan.”

Mfuru blinked.

“I… I was unaware. Doctor Dorsett is her attending physician, you can find her through the doors. I’d talk to her about letting…”

“Vicar Desoto,” Max supplied.

“Letting Vicar Desoto in to see Ms Doyle.”

Margie nodded.

“Thank you so much, Doctor.”

As the trio entered the doors Max gave Margie a side-eye.

“Am I allowed to take the lead, oh Captain my captain?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, go fer it, preacher man.”

He took point, striding toward the closest Doctor with his hand stretched out.

“Doctor Dorsett?”

“Yes,” the woman answered, shaking his hand, “May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“Vicar Desoto, I’m here on behalf of one of your patients, Jessie Doyle.”

She crossed her arms, suddenly suspicious.

“What about her?”

“The request for rites? Were… were you not informed?”

“Last rites? She’s hardly dying.”

Max gave a soft chuckle, schooling his features to be kind yet demeaning. 

“I take it you’re not a follower of the faith, have you heard of the Grand Architect’s plan? I admit, I was surprised to find no mission aboard the Groundbreaker.”

“I’ve heard enough about the Plan, thank you, Vicar. You said Doyle contacted you?”

“No, I was contacted through Doctor Mfuru, he said her file indicated that she was very religious and wished to speak with a Vicar. When Chief Tennyson saw me with my dear Captain, Hawthorne of the Unreliable, we all agreed that now we were in a position to provide her with the consult she so dearly needs.”

“You said Hawthorne?” Dr Dorsett asked, turning toward Margie, “You’re the one who saved the ship.”

“That’s right, ma’am,” Margie confirmed with a modest nod.

“Well… if Junlei and Dr Mfuru have approved, it’s fine with me.”

“Thank you, Doctor Dorsett,” said Max, grasping her hands in thanks, “I would hate to abandon one of my flock.”

“Just you though,” the Doctor said sternly as the trio turned toward the doors, “There’s no reason for your companions to follow.”

“No problem,” Margie answered, smooth as butter, handing Ms Holcomb her bit clip, “Parvati, you mind getting supplies from Doctor Mfuru? Doctor Dorsett, I’d actually like to talk to you about a shipment.”

With Doctor Dorsett sufficiently distracted, Max was able to slip through the restricted door, walking confidently enough to not be questioned by the Mardets, his vestments certainly helping. 

He was absolutely going to kill Margie if he got a disease because of this.

After only a few minutes, he found the room labeled ‘Doyle’, and pressed the button on the intercom. He didn’t get a chance to speak.

“For the last raptidon-ruttin time!” the woman inside the room yelled, “LEAVE ME IN PEACE. You hullheaded quacks do know that restful recuperation requires not being disturbed, dont’ you?”

“Doctor Fenhill sent me,” Max responded, tone clipped from her impertinence.

“Ellie? What? Why? Everything’s fine. We’re all fine here, no need for her to be worrying her pretty little head about me. I’m just terrible, dreadful sick is all. Got a cough that won’t quit and sores all over my body. Highly, lethally contagious. But I’ll be fine, so long as I’m left alone.”

Max peered through the window at her. There wasn’t a sore in sight. 

“Open the door before I kick it down,” he threatened. 

“Alright!” she squeaked, “Should’ve known Ellie would send a bruiser after me.”

The door opened and Max walked inside, arms crossed.

“A vicar?” Doyle asked, clearly confused, “Can’t say I saw that one coming. Guess that bloodhound will talk to anyone who’ll listen. The truth is, I’m not sick, but if you repeat what I’m about to tell you to anyone I will deny it with my dying breath. You, uh, ain’t with the board are you?”

Max thought about lying, just because he was annoyed at having to be back here, but shook his head. 

“Good. See, I owe them. A lot. I might’ve missed a payment or two, and the other night I swear someone was following me back to my room, so I holed up here to lay low.”

Of course. Of course Margie would send him back here to talk with a criminal. And a particularly bad one at that. 

“What did you do that got you in trouble?”

“What? No, I didn’t do anything. I’m a law-abiding denizen of this ship, I swear.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Level with me or I walk away from you right now.”

“You’d let a poor, ill woman get disappeared by the Board?”

Max continued to look unimpressed. 

“By the law, you’re coldblooded. Though, I have to say, I admire your backbone. Alright, I’ll tell you if it’ll help me. I’m a thief. I specialize in particularly high-end and historically valuable items. Three weeks back, I caught rumor that the Blood Tear diamond- last worn by an heiress on the lost Hope- surfaced for the first time in seventy years.”

“So you stole it.”

“If I had, you think I’d be hiding out in the med bay? I was going to steal it. Lined up Udom as my buyer, he paid half up front to finance the operation. Let’s just say, things went sideways about the time I got my hands on the diamond, and it crumbled to stardust in my palm. Anywho, I barely made it out with my life and nary a plan to make back Udon’s deposit I’d spent.”

Max sighed. He desperately wanted to say “Good luck with that,” tell Margie that Doyle really was sick, and put the whole mess behind him, but somehow he didn’t think that was going to cut it.

“Alright, say I want to help you, what then?”

“Udom Bedford’s the Board guy on the station. He’d know how I stand with them. If you can square things for me, I’d owe you one even bigger than Ellie owes me.”

“I’ll talk to Udom for you,” Max resigned, and could practically feel Margie smiling at him for the declaration.

As he turned around to walk away, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Margie _was_ smiling at him, and had somehow obtained a Mardet uniform.

“By the law,” he swore.

“Found an ID card after I finished talkin’ to the doc. You ready to go? I’ll be your escort.”

She leaned over to wave at a thoroughly bewildered Jessie. 

“The sooner the better,” he confirmed, and the two walked out, the automated door closing behind them. 

“You couldn’t find a uniform for Ms Holcomb to change into?” he asked mildly, “We could have made it a party.”

“Oh, I ain’t wearin’ no uniform,” Margie replied, “Here, look real close when I walk.”

He did, and though he probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t told him, her clothes did flicker like a hologram.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Holographic shroud, daddy made it. Hey, watch this.”

As they walked through the doors back to the non-restricted area, the outfit simply faded away, leaving her back in her normal clothes.

“Impressive.”

“Not as much as you, preacher man. You really got her talkin’. Let’s grab Parvati and go back to Bedford.”

The pair collected Ms Holcomb from the waiting room, and they all set out again, Max explaining the situation and Ms Holcomb going over the medical items she bought. 

“Oh,” Bedford sighed once he saw them again, “It’s you again. How can I help you now? Unless, perhaps-” he brightened up a bit, “perhaps you’re back with Alex’s personal effects? There was a picture of us that-”

“We’re here about Jessie Doyle,” Margie interrupted, “I want her debt settled.”

That was clearly not what Bedford was hoping for.

“Ms Doyle owes the Board a significant sum. Alas, the only collateral she has is… her organs. Compulsory donation is quite legal in these cases.”

The revolted look on Margie’s face quite clearly showed she was unused to dealing with the board. Even Ms Holcomb barely batted an eye.

“How much does she owe?” Max calmly asked, buying a little extra time for his captain to get herself together. 

“Don’t matter,” Margie interrupted, “I’ll pay it.”

She really was too kind to be a Captain. 

“Can’t say I disapprove,” Max reassured in an undertone, “But as she’s not in our crew I think we should look at the bill.”

He looked back at Udom.

“Do you have the itemized bill?”

“Of course,” Bedford sniffed, handing it over. 

Margie handed it to Max, her eyes a little unfocused.

“Why are you charging so much for emotional anguish?” he asked Bedford, eyes skimming over the charges. 

“Because I am extremely anguished, Vicar. Please respect my feelings in this difficult time.”

Margie scoffed, and Max stepped a little closer, blood starting to heat as his head dipped to murmur into Margie’s ear, just loud enough that Bedford was sure to hear it.

“I doubt Mr. Bedford’s ever felt _real_ pain, darling. We could introduce him to the sort of suffering that actually constitutes extreme anguish,” his eyes flicked to the company man, “For the good of his understanding, of course.”

“Be careful you don’t irritate my guards,” Bedford interjected before Margie could reply, “You might not like their rather narrow understanding of what constitutes excessive force.”

Though his voice was pitched too high for true bravado, the man did have a good point; there were six guards in riot gear and only three of them.

Margie brought her hand up to Max’s still lowered head and stroked the line of his jaw as one might pet a dog. Bedford’s eyes widened at the visual as Margie started to speak, voice low and dangerous.

“You’ll take off the extra charges and I keep my man on his leash. How does that sound, _Udom?”_

Bedford gulped.

“I think we can arrange that. You can inform Ms Doyle that her collections agent has been recalled.”

Max rolled his shoulders as he walked out of the building, absolutely itching for a fight. Ever the hawk-eye, Margie slipped her arm around his waist, grounding him as he settled his arm around her shoulders.

“That was an awful lot of money, Captain,” Ms Holcomb stated as they walked, “Why’d you wanna help Ms Doyle so bad?”

“I don’t,” she answered, “I wanna help Doctor Fenhill.”

“Oh… okay.”

They walked a few more steps.

“You can ask, Ms Holcomb,” Max said, “I’m curious too.”

“Oh, good. I thought it might be a stupid question. So, why’d you wanna help Doctor Fenhill so bad?”

Margie chuckled.

“Well, she don’t have no access to Ms Doyle, so she don’t work there. Might be that she needs work. Can you think of any crew that needs a doctor on their good side?”

“Very clever,” Max praised, sharing a grin with his captain.

“That _would_ be a good idea,” Ms Holcomb mused, “I’m good at fixing up robots, but I think I’d do a sight worse with humans.”

“The good news came through the wires,” Dr Fenhill greeted when they entered the Medical Bay again, “Looks like you paid my debt to Jessie. I guess that means I owe you now, right? Tell you what. I’m a little short on bits at the moment, but I’m a decent scrapper and a better-than-average sawbones. If you’re looking for a medic, I can work my debt off.”

Margie grinned, a cat with her cream.

“You really don’t like owin’ folks, do you?”

Fenhill shrugged.

“It’s like people touching a cookie and leaving it in the box. It’s just one of those things that gets under my skin.”

“Welcome aboard, Ellie,” Margie congratulated, clapping their hands into a handshake, “I’m the Captain of the Unreliable, though I suspect you knew that already. We’re libel not to leave ‘till noon tomorra, I can get you a room at the Rest-N-Go if you need it.”

The doctor shook her head.

“I’ve got my own accommodations. Meet you at your ship at noon?”

“Sounds good to me! We won’t leave without you.”

Another handshake, and Fenhill was walking out the door.

Max turned toward Margie.

“Sublight?”

“Sublight.”

Surprisingly, talking with the slightly insane head of a salvaging company was the least interesting part of the day. Lilya Hagen asked if they had a Navkey to Stellar Bay, Margie confirmed that they did not, and after a little bit of shop talk they were back out the door. 

Good thing, too. Max’s knee was starting to hurt.

“What’da say?” Margie asked as they stepped back onto the promenade. “Wanna hit the bar? It’s pretty close to the Rest-N-Go.”

“Thank fuck,” Max groaned, “I’d kill for a beer.”

“You had one with lunch,” Ms Holcomb pointed out.

“Those statements are not contradictory,” he corrected.

“I think I might just go to my room?” Ms Holcomb questioned nervously.

“Sure thing, honey,” Margie drawled, “You want us to bring somethin’ back for you?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll probably just grab dinner from the vending machines.” 

“A public terminal,” Max announced with glee as they rounded a corner, “They usually have fuck-all security.”

Margie gave a chuckle.

“You wanna just meet me at the bar then? I’m not too keen to stand around and watch you use it.”

Even better, he could see if he could hack into the flight logs from here.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

She shrugged. 

“I got Parvati to take me down to the Rest-N-Go, and the bar’s just right across the promenade. I think I’ll handle okay.”

After bidding Ms Holcomb goodnight and telling Margie he would see her in a bit, he got to work attacking the computer.

Someone named Martin (the moonman maybe?) was still logged in, so he did a quick glance at his correspondence before delving deeper. Though he was able to check all public messages and hack into dozens of individual accounts, it seemed that the cargo manifests and flight logs were stored on a different server. Of course.

After skimming over posts and emails and finding nothing of any particular importance, he decided he may as well make his way to the bar, logging Martin out as a courtesy. It had probably been about half an hour, and Max couldn’t wait to sit down, his knee was killing him.

The knee was all but forgotten when he entered the Lost Hope. 

“I done and _told you_ I ain’t interested!”

“Cmon! It’s just one drink, baby! You gonna turn down a free drink?”

Margie hardly looked to be in any danger, the snot-nosed brat trying to talk her up was a lanky thing probably a good ten years her junior, and she looked more annoyed than mad, but Max strode over anyway.

_SMACK!_

“FUCK! MY NOSE!”

Or, at least that’s what the boy was probably trying to say, the blood in his mouth garbling his words after Max had grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face down on the counter.

Max grabbed the pathetic right hook the boy threw his way and used it to haul him closer.

“Bother my Captain again and I’ll break a lot more than your nose,” he told him, sounding more bored than anything else. Law, he hoped they had whiskey.

After the kid sobbed something like, “I promise!” Max let him go, sparing a glance at the door to make sure the boy staggered out it. 

Certainly he had the attention of everyone in the bar, but he ignored it, sitting down next to Margie and letting out a little groan as he stretched out his knee. 

“You were a little short with him, don’t you think?” Margie asked, though the indulgent grin on her face spoke to her amusement.

“He was blocking my seat,” Max replied, the corners of his lips quirking up.

Margie waved the bartender over.

“Two spectrum vodkas if you would, honey.”

“I’d rather have whiskey.”

“Don’t have that,” Margie and the bartender said at the same time.

“Vodka then, red.”

“Sure thing, blue again for you?”

“You got it. Make it two for us both, save you a trip.”

The bartender disappeared for a moment, then made two trips, two glasses for them each.

“Thanks, honey.”

They clinked their cups and downed their first glasses, red like Margie’s hair for Max, blue like Max’s vestment for Margie. 

“Yer knee doin’ okay?” Margie asked after they drank.

Max nodded.

“Just a hell of a day.”

“You can say that again. Hey, wanna go to a table in the back?”

Max nodded, and after getting another drink from the bartender they relocated, four glasses promising requiescence from their places at the table. 

Margie hooked a leg over Max’s lap, legs wide like a man’s. The contact burned through the denim and cotton. 

“Ask yer questions, I’m sure you’ve got ‘em.”

“Alright. Why ask me to look at Chief Tennyson’s computer?”

Margie sipped one of her drinks, tongue darting out to wet her lips after.

“When I was in Edgewater, me and Parvati broke into a home. Didn’t know it was occupied, but they were friendly enough, invited us to dinner. Turned out they were cannibals.”

“Oof.”

“Yeah. Let’s just say it put me a little on edge. Thought Junlei was the real thing, just helps to make sure.”

They drank for a few moments in silence, before Max broke it.

“How are you, Margie?”

“Fine.”

Sighing, he pulled her chair toward him. She went willingly, laying her head on his shoulder, a repeat of the night before as he wrapped an arm around her.

“How are you really?”

She huffed a laugh.

“Better than I thought. Had a few moments where I wanted to run back to Daddy’s, see if he’d take me under his wing, but I straightened out. Helped to have you there, Max.”

He took a drink and squeezed her shoulder.

“You were beautiful today. I never thought killing a mantipillar could be beautiful.”

She laughed again, more than a huff this time, and it warmed him as much as the vodka.

“And you were a quicker study than I thought, preacher man.”

“It’s hard to misunderstand an elbow to the ribs.”

She elbowed him in the ribs.

“Take the compliment, asshole.”

He laughed, though not quite as carefree as she had.

Surprisingly, she noticed.

“What’s up with you, honey?”

He jostled her a little as he shrugged. 

“I was wondering…. I have an idea of how to find a translator, and I was wondering if you could help me do it.”

The words tasted heavy on his tongue, the lie gumming up his mouth like liquorice. As he looked down he couldn’t help but notice how open Margie’s face was, free of suspicion. He felt every bit the criminal he had been cast as. 

“You know somebody who can read the book?”

“I’ve been thinking on that,” Max replied. He really had, though he had come up with no answers. He felt his tongue fork as he kept talking. “There's a former assoc… er, infamous Philosophist scholar who fled Terra 2 some years ago. He’s an expert on Bakonu. He’s also who told me of the journal’s presence in Emerald Vale. If anyone in this colony could translate that book, it would be him.”

She took her head off his shoulder, eyes a little more guarded as she looked at him.

“A former what, now?”

Though he swore at himself in his head, he was careful to keep his emotions off his face. Coming up with an excuse was easy when she already trusted him.

“You caught me. Listen, the OSI frowns on fraternization with Philosophists. I’d like to keep my associations with our scholar friend quiet.”

She smirked, talking a sip of her drink.

“My my, ain’t you naughty. Was he one of your prison buds?”

“Yes,” he answered, deeply uncomfortable that she had managed to hit so close to home, “As a matter of fact he was.”

“Well, sounds like a good lead, how do we find him? Is he on Groundbreaker?”

“Unlikely, but we’re in the perfect place to start. This is where I’d go if I wanted to get off Terra 2. Great place to pick up a ride to Hephaestus, Scylla, even Monarch. I tried to hack into the departure manifests from the public terminal, but it looks like they’re being held on a separate server. I need to get into the security station to be able to access them.”

“Which is where I come in,” Margie supplied with a grin.

“You do seem to have a knack for talking your way into restricted places.”

She took another drink, a little furrow between her brows.

“Sounds good to me, should be easy enough to swing when we turn in Redd’s lighter tomorra.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he murmured, managing to feel relieved and sick at the same time.

“No problem, but how is it that a simple vicar happens to be such a highly skilled hacker?”

Relieved, he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding and started talking about his time in prison. 

The rest of the night was… good. It was strange how something so simple as talking over drinks made him feel so warm inside, the vodka and the way Margie’s nose scrunched up when she laughed heating him in equal measure. 

Thanks to Max’s display of violence at the start of the night they remained unbothered, and his anxiety eventually melted, Chaney forgotten in favor of laughing at stories of Margie chasing down her escaped cattle at the livestock market, in favor of watching how the dull fluorescents hit her eyes just right, how the blue of her irises was the most beautiful blue he’d ever seen. 

They staggered back across the promenade a few hours later, hanging on to each other and laughing at something that wasn’t even funny. She groaned as they neared the hotel.

“I still need to book my room.”

“Stay with me,” he offered, the words tumbling from his lips like a drunk ballerina.

She smacked at his shoulder with the hand not around his waist.

“You whore.”

Max laughed at the unexpected insult, and Margie joined him, the sound complimenting the music that spilled out of the bar.

“Only for you, my dear” he teased, dipping down to nip at her ear.

She smacked him again, but didn’t pull away. He wondered how she would taste, if she would be angry if he moved his lips further, if he could press his mouth to the pale column of her throat, if she would moan if he dragged his teeth across her skin. 

“Last chance,” he murmured as they walked through the door of the Rest-N-Go, pressing a drunken, open-mouthed kiss below her ear. She tasted like salt, and honey, and _woman_ and he couldn’t help but scrape his teeth over the spot he had just tasted.

“You hound-dog!” she exclaimed, shoving him away. He staggered, a million-bit smile lighting up his face as she laughed, throaty and loud, bright as any star.

“Go to bed,” she ordered with a wave of her hand, unable to sound stern with the mega-watt grin on her face.

“Is that an order, Captain?” he replied, raising a brow.

She rolled her eyes, still grinning. 

“Fuck off.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he said with a lazy salute.

She flipped him off before turning to the clerk, and Max knew better than to push his luck, retreating to his room, only slightly stumbling.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

\----------------------------

The next morning felt strangely domestic. 

Though he woke up with a hangover his knee was feeling fine, and after getting breakfast from the vending machines the trio set out to stock the larder and upgrade their weapons and armor.

Though he had been pretty sure she hadn’t been offended by his drunken kiss the night before, it was still a relief when Margie slipped her arm into his as they walked along the promenade.

Ms Holcomb spent the morning talking a mile a minute about Chief Tennyson, scrap parts, and weapon’s upgrades, and made a habit of blushing deeply and stammering whenever Margie bought her something she wanted.

Margie had kept her promise from a few days before and had given Max all his bits back at the bar the previous night, but she still insisted on buying most of his things as well, calling things like his new shotgun ‘work expenses’. 

It didn’t feel like work though, it felt, dangerously, like family.

By the time they were all packed up and headed out, Max had all but forgotten about Chaney, and the sight of the security station hit him like a brick to his stomach.

Margie never faltered, walking right up to the window. In true Margie fashion, she’d managed to collect the bounty on MacRedd and talk her way into a ‘thank you tour’ in less than fifteen minutes. 

“Of course, we understand that an important man like yourself needs to hold the line. We can show ourselves around,” she finished with a wink, and just like that they were in the security hold. 

“Perfect,” Max breathed when he saw a computer hidden away from the main office, “Do you have a bypass stunt? I can do the rest.”

“Sure thing, but listen, honey. You mind if we sneak off a bit while you look? One of the datapads I bought off Gladys mentioned a secret room back here, and I thought we could-”

“Of course!” he assured, so relieved he cut her off. The less she knew about Chaney the better; it would be much safer for him to go through the data without her looking over his shoulder. 

Despite looking a little taken aback by his enthusiastic response, Margie smiled.

“Thanks, sugar. Meet by the posters after we’re done?”

“Perfect,” he confirmed, “Close the door on your way out.”

She did, and he was left alone with departure manifests and all-consuming rage. He had never wanted to kill a man more. 

It took a little while, especially because he had to keep his body angled halfway toward the door, but he eventually tracked down the man who ruined his life. And Chaney _had_ ruined his life. Without Chaney he never would have gotten himself assigned to Edgewater, never would have spent years eating saltuna and worrying about the plague. He was a damned good vicar, had been offered a higher ranking position in the OSI after he’d been released from Tartarus, but he’d turned it down to chase after fucking _french._

Chaney would feel every year he’d fucking wasted when he caught him.

After extirpating any trace that he was there, Max stood and walked out of the office, shutting the door again before escaping from the security station. Margie wasn’t at the wanted posters yet, but that was fine, it gave him time to think. 

Monarch was the ultimate destination anyway, so surely it wouldn’t be too much to convince Margie to go to Fallbrook from there. And if she said no? It wouldn’t be hard for him to join another crew, or even reenlist with the OSI, they needed eyes on the ground at Monarch. As long as he could stay with Margie until she got the navkey, he would be fine. 

“Hey! Aren’t you that vicar with Captain Hawthorne?”

Max looked up at the voice, glad to have a respite from his thoughts. 

“Ah, Doctor Fenhill. Good to see you again.”

They shook hands, something like a mutual respect passing between them.

“Same to you, I’m afraid I forgot your name.”

“Desoto, Maximilian Desoto.”

He didn’t offer for her to call him Max. 

“The Captain leave you behind?”

He chuckled.

“No, we both had… errands to run. We agreed to meet here.”

“I’ll wait with you then,” Dr. Fenhill offered, dropping the duffel bag she was carrying, “Cig?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

They stood in silence a moment while they lit up, Max giving an appreciative groan at the taste.

“I haven’t had High Societies in years. Where’d you get them?”

“Not on this piece of flying garbage, that’s for sure.”

The two shared a chuckle.

“You mind me asking what I signed up for? I heard you fucked up a guy pretty bad last night.”

Max snorted, ashing his cigarette.

“Hardly, just broke his nose. You don’t have anything to worry about as long as you respect a woman saying no.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised, “Good then. You and the Captain, huh?”

Max shrugged, keeping his eyes on the curl of the smoke from his cig.

“No fucking clue.”

Fenhill laughed.

“Yeah, it’s like that sometimes. I’ll do my best to keep out of her pants.”

That startled a laugh out of him. 

“See to it that you do.”

“Anything else I should know?” 

He shook his head, it wasn’t up to him to tell Margie’s story.

“Margie’s fair. If you need anything, just ask her and you’ll probably get it. You get your own room, and food’s provided for; Ms Holcomb will fix anything that’s broken. Don’t undermine Margie’s authority in public, but she’ll be glad to talk to you privately. I am still a practicing vicar if you keep the faith.”

“So don’t be an asshole and talk to someone if I need help? Sounds like preschool.”

“Hopefully you have more control over your bodily functions.”

“Max!” a voice interjected before Fenhill could respond.

Margie and Ms Holcomb were heading toward them, Ms Holcomb with a large, dangerous looking hammer in her arms, Margie with blood splatter across her face that complimented her freckles perfectly. 

“Do I want to know, darling?”

“Just space marauders hidin’ in an old laboratory behind the security station,” she replied, sliding an arm around his waist.

“So the usual?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders without a second thought.

“It seems so,” she agreed with a chuckle, taking a moment to smile warmly up at Max before turning to Dr Fenhill.

“Good to see you, Ellie. Glad you found us okay.”

“Sounds like I should have found you earlier. I guess that blood’s not yours?”

“Yeah, won’t have no need of your services today, doctor. Ready to get goin’?”

The four of them gathered their various bags and set off toward The Unreliable, chatting amicably along the way.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Max proclaimed once the ship was in sight, interupting Ms Holcomb’s chatter about her new weapon.

“Oh, well… I guess I could leave it here. It’s just- the Captain said I could have it and-”

“Not you, Parvati,” he corrected quickly, upset that he upset her, “The boy is back.” 

And so he was. The young man that had hit his foreman with a tossball bat (Felix? Max thought he remembered his name) was reading a book in the shadow of the Unreliable, a tattered suitcase next to him. A ratty blanket and a wadded up jacket serving as a pillow lay next to him.

“Poor baby,” Margie sighed, “Do you think he’s been there the whole time?”

“Hopefully not, I wouldn’t want the mardets to associate him with us,” Max replied.

“Don’t be a bastard,” Margie scolded, pulling away from him, “He might not have anywhere else to go.”

“We’re hardly an orphanage,” he countered, miffed that she had pulled away over some street rat. 

Margie shot him a glare.

“We’ve got plenty of room on the ship.”

“You can’t be serious, Margaret!”

“Oh, so it’s Margaret now, is it, _Maximilian_.”

Max clenched his jaw, ready to retort, but their continued progress had alerted the boy to their presence, and he scrambled up, crumpling up his makeshift cot in an attempt to look like he hadn’t been sleeping there.

“Hey! You got a second?” the boy asked, jogging up to the edge of the platform to meet them.

“More than a second, honey,” Margie replied, grabbing onto the handrails on either side of the entrance to the dock, physically separating Felix from Max.

“I was just admiring your ship from up close. Gotta hand it to you, boss. That’s a fine looking ship; only thing it’s missing is me.”

Though the words themselves were confident, the boy was shaking like a leaf in the wind, knobby knees practically knocking together. 

“You’re pretty darn eager to throw in with people you barely know.”

“Yes, I absolutely am,” he quickly confirmed, “But just give me a shot, that’s all I’m asking. I could be the best damn crew you ever hired!”

A slow smile bloomed on Margie’s face, eyes softer than Max had ever seen them.

“Alright, Felix. Go ahead and tell me why I should hire you.”

Felix searched her face desperately, as if expecting her to laugh, a coltish smile brightening his face when she didn’t.

“You’re serious? You’re giving me a shot? Alright, hang on, hang on. I put together a little speech, just in case you asked.”

If Max rolled his eyes any harder he would sever his optic nerve.

“Hey there, I’m Felix Millstone. I have prepared a list of reasons why I believe you should hire me to join the crew of your ship and/or outlaw gang.”

The words were stuttering and halting, and he was clearly reading smudged ink words off his hand, but Margie was clearly endeared.

“I’m enjoying this, go on, baby,” Margie encouraged, voice soothing in the way she must have been with the calves on her farm. 

“Firstly, I am highly personable and I get along well with anyone who is not of the jackass persuasion.”

Parvati giggled, prompting a “Sorry, he’s funny!” when Max glared.

“Secondly, I can be counted on in the event of a firefight, standoff, and/or raid. My motto is- if you need a steady gunhand, I’m your man.”

A moment of silence followed. 

“That motto is… a work in progress.”

“Keep goin’, I’m likin’ what I’m hearin.”

It took all of Max’s self control not to let out a groan.

“Really? You do? I mean- of course you do. Additionally, I have several years of experience as a box-hauler. This skill may come in handy if you need a body dragged away, or a door held open while escaping enemy fire. In conclusion, thank you for considering me for your ship crew and/or outlaw gang. I look forward to our adventures together.”

He put down his smudged hand. 

“So? What do you think? Am I in?”

“I thought that was real good, Felix,” Parvati chimed.

He smiled.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence! What do you think, Captain?”

She offered her hand.

“Welcome to the Unreliable, Felix Millstone. I’ll be glad to have you aboard.”

“Wow,” he gasped, grasping her hand with a shaky one of his own, “Thanks, boss. You’re not gonna regret this.”

“Get your stuff up, we’re leaving in a moment.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he agreed, letting go of her hand to scramble after his belongings.

“Margie, I don’t think I need to tell you how much I-”

“That’s right,” she interrupted, wheeling to face Max, “You don’t need to tell me. In case you forgot, _I’m_ the fuckin’ captain. Now you can shut up and get on the ship or stay behind and keep runnin’ your mouth. Vicar’s choice.”

And with that, she made her way toward the ship, never once looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop and rest weary traveler, you've made it to the end of an insanely long chapter. Congrats on reading All That Hogwash by me. I've got the chapters preplanned already, but it's planned by events rather than wordcount. Should I break chapters up if they get long like this or do you guys care? I personally like long chapters by my sibling refused to beta read this chapter bc it was too long lol. LMK if y'all have any strong opinions. (Also lmk about literally anything I love reviews so much).
> 
> As I was playing OW again I noticed that Max says he wasn't actually a prisoner he was just the prison vicar but it's my story so nah nah nah nah boo boo to the writers of the game (even tho I love them so so much).
> 
> Also the scene where Margie talks about the calves dying was inspired by the poem Two Headed Calf by Laura Gilpin. Makes me cry every time. 
> 
> And as always the spotify playlist has been updated! Here's the link if you're interested: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0GxJyHyN9rQWbfNN3XUlVc?si=jvhaMbLbQjy_CTXBzI_bBw


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